


Measurable Steps

by afteriwake



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-31
Updated: 2014-12-31
Packaged: 2018-03-04 12:35:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 76,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3068105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afteriwake/pseuds/afteriwake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Someone is not happy Sherlock Holmes is still among the living, and they know Molly helped. When the mysterious M begins a new game for both Sherlock and Molly nothing is ever the same again, but maybe, in the end, things are better than before.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dioscureantwins](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dioscureantwins/gifts).



> So this is my Holmestice fic for the 2014 winter round. We aren't supposed to post them until the first but my internet is buggy and if it fails I won't get to post it until the end of the month so I figured one day early won't hurt too much. This was written for the lovely **dioscureantwins** who had a very long list of things that were so much fun to write. In this (very long) story you will find an AU post-”Reichenbach” casefic with a lot of emotional hurt/comfort and a bit of angst, domestic scenes at 221B (among other places), bits of humor, jealous!Sherlock _and_ virgin!Sherlock, bamf!John, scheming!Mycroft, Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson. There's even a scene with an experiment exploding, which I had fun with. So I hope all of you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it.

It had been a long day for Molly. An eleven hour shift due to a massive automobile accident with multiple casualties, a spat in the morning with her supervisor, and a conversation with a coworker who simply didn't understand the most basic of protocol for filling out an autopsy report. He was new, she understood that, but it wasn't as though it hadn't been covered when he had first been hired. It had been a long and frustrating day and she just wanted it to be over and done with. As it stood now, it was nearly ten in the evening and all she wanted to do was crawl into bed and pretend the world didn't exist for a few hours until she needed to get up and do it all over again the next day.

She approached the door to her home and paused. There was a box there, one of the types long stemmed roses came in, with a red ribbon tied around it. She couldn't think of anyone who would want to send her flowers; there wasn't a special occasion she could think of, it had been ages since she had been on a date, and in the nearly two years Sherlock had been gone he only sent the occasional short note or rambling letter, depending on how verbose he felt when he was writing it. He wouldn't have bothered to send her flowers. And to be honest, she was surprised they were still sitting outside her door. Any number of people walked by the door on the pavement all day long, and if it was a delivery that had been made earlier in the day there had been multiple times someone could have walked up to her door and snatched it up.

Curious, she picked it up and balanced it with her handbag and the takeaway she had picked up on her way home before digging her keys out of her handbag and unlocking her door. She went into her kitchen first and set the food down on her counter before focusing on the box. The ribbon around the center was tied in a simple bow, and she reached for one of the ends and pulled. Once the ribbon was off the box she reached for the lid and opened it. As soon as she opened it, though, she recoiled in horror. There were a dozen rose stems in the box, and the buds of the black roses littered the box. There was also a Barbie doll with its head chopped off. The most disturbing part, however, was there was a picture of her face glued to the head. Her hands were shaking slightly as she reached inside for the folded up note that was next to the doll's body. She unfolded it and read it. _You never should have stuck your nose in the game. When he comes back, I'll make both of you pay. M._

She dropped the note back in and brought her hands to her mouth. Only three people in the world knew about what had really happened that day at the hospital, the day Sherlock fell from the roof. Sherlock had asked for her help in faking his death if he had to fall from the roof, and she had willingly given it to him. She would have helped if it was anyone she was close to, but because it was Sherlock and he never asked for help she knew it was important to help him. She had been in the morgue when he had been brought in, with broken bones and the head wound and all the blood. Mycroft had been there with her as well. They knew he could survive, but they hadn't been sure he actually _would_. Mycroft had been surprised at the amount of damage that had happened to Sherlock but she hadn't been. She'd seen the aftermath of enough suicides and murders from that method to see just how badly damaged a body could be. The fact he had been conscious at all had been a miracle in her eyes.

She had patched him up as best she could before they attempted to smuggle him into her home. That had been easier said than done, but once he was there and settled in her guest bedroom she relaxed just a bit. He was alive. He was on the mend. For a brief while she had known exactly where he was and how he was doing. There hadn't been a sense of uncertainty, at least about how he was doing. There was still uncertainty that Moriarty's great game was actually over, that all of them were safe. If _anyone_ found out that Sherlock wasn't really dead right then it could start all over again. She hadn't wanted to think about that much, though, and she pushed the thoughts to the side when they came up to focus on balancing her job and tending to him. When he left she let the uncertainty and the worry wash over her for a time, but over the last two years she'd managed to stop living in fear, to stop worrying.

At least until tonight.

Once she was able to regain her composure she went to her handbag and pulled her mobile out. She should call Greg; this was an issue the police needed to be involved in, but there was the implied idea that someone would be coming back, which anyone could figure out meant Sherlock was still alive. If he wasn't ready to come back she could put him and his mission in grave danger. That left only one person she could reach out to, much as she was reluctant to involve him in this, but she knew if anyone could keep her safe it was Mycroft. She got his contact up and pressed the small phone icon next to his name, then put the phone to her ear and waited.

He picked up on the third ring. “There was something in that box that frightened you,” he said quietly without waiting for her to speak.

She wasn't even remotely surprised he had her home under surveillance. If he hadn't already been doing that before Sherlock was her house guest she was fairly sure he'd continued after Sherlock had left in order to keep her safe. Normally she would have resented it but right now she welcomed it. “Yes. Black roses with the flowers cut off, a decapitated doll with a photograph of my face on the head and a note.”

“I had hoped it would simply be a secret admirer, but when he expertly avoided showing his face to the cameras I surmised his intentions were probably not good,” he replied with a sigh. “We'll begin to take care of it.”

“We?” she asked curiously.

There was a pause. “I called Sherlock back. He arrived this morning.”

She nearly dropped the phone. He was back? He was back and had been since this morning and she was _just_ finding out now? Of all the nerve. “And just when were you going to tell me?” she asked, beginning to get angry.

“Sherlock is on his way towards your home right now, actually,” he replied. “I would not leave you in the dark about this, Molly. He would not let me do that. He insisted you be the first to know. We only just concluded our business.”

“Oh,” she said quietly. She paused for a moment. “What are you going to do?”

“For the time being, it would be best if he stayed with you, at least until other arrangements can be made. I want to try and hide his presence for at least a little while longer as I make sure the evidence of his innocence is taken to Scotland Yard and delivered into the right set of hands. Once that's done we can find a safe place for you.”

“I don't want to leave my home,” she said.

“I'm afraid that won't be an option. If you wish for me to keep you safe you need to do what I say, and it is simply not safe for you to stay in your home. I'll make sure no harm comes to your belongings, but you're going to have to trust me.”

She was quiet for an even longer amount of time this time. Trusting Mycroft was not something she liked doing. He was shifty and calculating, and trusting him would end up giving him even more control over things in her life than she knew he had. She had surmised there were a lot of strings he had pulled and promises he'd had to make to keep things as they were, to keep her and everyone else safe, but this would be something different. This would be giving him more control than she honestly felt comfortable giving him. But, sadly, she didn't really have a choice. “Fine,” she said finally.

“Good. Sherlock will be there in thirty minutes. I will tell him to knock three times, then twice so you know it's him.”

“All right,” she said.

“We will keep you safe, Molly,” he said in a vaguely reassuring tone.

“You'd better, because it's your fault I'm being threatened in the first place,” she said. “Don't get me wrong, I'm glad I helped Sherlock, but if you hadn't had to let Moriarty go it never would have come down to that.”

“So John told you, I see,” Mycroft said with a sigh.

“Yes, he did,” she said. “He was pissed, though, so don't hold it against him.”

“I need to get off the phone to contact Sherlock. Remember, three knocks, then two.”

“Fine,” she said. She heard a click in her ear and then she lowered her phone. She glanced back at the box and then went and put the lid over it. She wanted to chuck it in the trash but she knew Mycroft would want to see its contents, and Sherlock probably would too.

Sherlock...he was back. Now that she was off the phone she was trying to wrap her head around that. He'd been gone for a year, eleven months and twenty-four days, though it had been over two years since he had faked his death. He'd stayed with her while the broken bones healed, but she had been the one to set them and do the casts, which was something she generally didn't do, and she hoped she had done a good enough job. For all she knew he could have a permanent limp or he wasn't able to use certain body parts he had broken properly anymore. He hadn't quite finished healing when he had left.

And then there was his personality. Was he still going to be cold and aloof? Was he going to be worse than he had been, or better? Had he done things he regretted or had he done things that would make her blood run cold and hadn't given a second thought to them? Would he actually be more damaged than he had been when he left? She knew she'd find out soon, but the thoughts were whirring about in her head and she just wanted to know sooner rather than later.

Finally, thirty minutes later, she heard three quick knocks on the door, followed by a pause and then two more. She went to the door and opened it. Sherlock was standing there, wearing denim trousers and a hooded pullover with the hood completely covering his face and hair. It was still very strange seeing him in something that wasn't a crisp dress shirt and a sharp cut suit, just as it had been when he had stayed with her while he was recuperating. He had a medium sized bag slung over his shoulder, and he lowered it after a moment. “Hello, Molly,” he said quietly.

“Hello, Sherlock.” She moved out of the way so he could come in. He appeared to be walking normally so at least his bones had healed properly. He came into the hallway and set his bag on the floor before pulling the hood off of his head. She saw with surprise that his hair was short, much shorter than it usually was, and it appeared to be a warmer shade. She guessed it was brown, something closer to her own hair color, but she couldn't really tell with the dimmer light in her hallway. She shut the door and locked it behind her, and they stood there awkwardly for a moment before she decided to hell with it and went over and embraced him. He stiffened up in response, but after a few moments he awkwardly embraced her back. “I'm glad you're home,” she said.

“I'm glad to be home, I suppose,” he said. After a moment she let him go and stepped away from him when he moved his arms away. “Mycroft said you got an unwelcome gift.”

She nodded. “It's in the kitchen, on the counter.” She gestured towards the stairs that led to her sitting room and he made his way up them. She followed but stayed out of the kitchen, watching him go into the kitchen and move towards the box. “I don't want to look at it again,” she said quietly.

“Once I've gotten what I need from it this can go out to Anthea. She's waiting in the car,” he said, taking the lid off the box. He lifted out one of the clipped roses, smelling it, and then set it back in the box. He then lifted up both the doll's body and then the head, examining each one closely. Finally he pulled out the note, and when he read it she could see him clench his jaw. He set the note back into the box and then put the lid on it. “It's too risky if I go back outside for the moment. You'll need to take this to her.”

She went to the box, approaching it as though it was a live snake, and then she picked it up. She tucked it under her arm and then made her way back to the front door, unlocking it and making her way to the black sedan she saw waiting there. A window in the back rolled down and she saw Anthea sitting there. John had mentioned that every time Mycroft had collected him Anthea had stayed nearly silent, but Molly'd had some interesting chats with her. They were friendly, though not friends. “Is that the box, Molly?” Anthea asked.

Molly nodded, lifting it up slightly and sliding it through the window and into the car. “Yes. He left it all in there after examining everything.”

“Mycroft will keep it for him until he can leave your home and run tests on everything,” Anthea said as she set the box next to her. “I'm sorry this is happening to you.”

“I suppose when you get mixed up with the Holmes brothers things like this tend to happen,” she said with a wan smile.

“Still. You're a good person. You don't deserve it.” She was quiet for a moment, as though she wanted to say something else, but she changed her mind and rolled the window back up, ending their conversation.

Molly straightened up and then made her way back into her home. She locked the door behind her again and made her way to the sitting room, not at all surprised to see Sherlock sitting in the chair he had claimed as his own the last time he had been there, fingers steepled together in front of his face. “Your supper is cold,” he said, not looking at her.

“I've lost my appetite,” she replied. “If you want it you're welcome to it. It's chettinad chicken, rice and parathas.”

“I never thought you would like a dish that spicy,” he said, looking at her with a surprised look on his face.

“You may have lived with me for a month and a half but there's a lot you don't know about me,” she said with a slight shrug. “Do you want the food?”

He nodded. “I haven't eaten since this morning.”

“Then come over to the table and I'll put it on a plate for you,” she said as she moved into her kitchen. She could hear him get up out of the chair and move to the table in the small dining area of her home. She pulled out a plate from her cabinet and then went to the bag containing the takeaway, pulling the container out. Once she had transferred the food to the plate she reheated it and then got a fork and knife and took it over to where Sherlock was sitting. “Here you go.”

“Thank you,” he said as he picked up the fork and began to eat. He stayed quiet as he ate, nearly wolfing it down. She wondered how often he had actually eaten while he was gone, and for that matter how often he slept and whether he actually took care of himself. Now that he had taken off the pullover she could see he was in a cotton T-shirt and it hung on him slightly. He was only slightly thinner, thankfully, which put her at ease a bit more. When he was done he set his silverware on the plate and pushed it away from him slightly. “I don't have good news for you,” he said after a few seconds.

“Somehow I doubted I would be that lucky,” she said with a sigh. “What is the bad news?”

“I don't think the man who killed himself on the roof was the real Moriarty,” he replied. “While I worked to take down the network, there was someone attempting to stop me at every turn. I was more successful than they were, but there is still a threat. And this threat knows you're involved.”

“Wonderful,” she murmured. She leaned back in the chair slightly. “So what am I supposed to do?”

“For the time being you'll be taking time off of your post.” She opened her mouth to protest but he held up a hand. “I can't reveal myself yet, and Mycroft doesn't want you and I to be separated. So until I can show my face in London again, you need to stay here. He'll make sure your lost wages are covered.”

“Well, you had best be able to show your face soon, because I have three trials to testify at soon and if I miss them there are criminals who will get to go free,” she said, glaring at him slightly.

“How soon is the closest trial?” he asked.

“Ten days. The trials are one day after the next for three days.”

“I should be able to reveal myself by then,” he replied. “It will only take a week at most.”

“Good,” she said.

He looked at her intently for a long moment. “When is the last time you ate?” he asked.

“This morning,” she said.

“I shouldn't have eaten your evening meal,” he said.

“Right now I'm not hungry, but you were,” she said. “If I get my appetite back I can fix myself something later.”

He nodded. “All right.”

“Are you tired?” she asked.

“No,” he said. “I don't sleep very much anymore, and I have many things to think about right now. I'll probably be up for some time.”

“Well, I think I'm going to get the guest bedroom ready for you and then go to bed and try and read for a while,” she said, standing up.

“If you want to leave sheets and a quilt on the bed I can make it myself later,” he said, looking up at her. “You don't need to go out of your way for me.”

“Are you sure?” she asked. He nodded. “All right. I'll get some things from the cupboard and leave them on the bed for you. Good night, Sherlock.”

“Good night, Molly,” he said with a nod as she moved away from the table. She went to the kitchen and got her handbag off the counter, taking it over to the table where she usually kept it. Then she went upstairs and got Sherlock the fresh sheets and quilt, setting them on the bed. Finally she made her way to her own bedroom. She stripped out of her clothing and changed into pyjamas before getting into her bed. She reached over for the book on her nightstand, attempting to read, but flashes of the doll and the flowers and the note kept interrupting her thoughts. After forty-five minutes of this she sighed and put the book back down before turning off the light. She settled into her bed and shut her eyes, knowing if she got any sleep tonight it would be hard to come by.


	2. Chapter 2

Her alarm buzzed at six in the morning and she groaned. Of _course_ she had forgotten to turn off her alarm, she thought to herself as she reached over and slammed her hand down on the snooze button to stop the alarm. Once her room was blissfully silent again she sat up and picked the alarm off her nightstand, turning it off. She was fairly sure she wasn't going to need to call in to work because Mycroft would make the arrangements, but it didn't hurt, just in case. She reached over for her phone and frowned. It wasn't on her nightstand where it usually was. That could only mean she'd left in in her kitchen the night before, which also meant the battery was most likely dead. She got out of bed already starting to dread exactly what kind of day this was going to be.

She went to the back of her bedroom door and got her dressing gown off the hook, slipping it on. Normally she didn't bother with it unless it was cold, but considering her pyjamas were a pair of sleep shorts and a camisole top and Sherlock was currently staying with her she thought modesty was best.. She yawned as she made her way out of her bedroom and down the stairs. As she got closer to her sitting room she could smell coffee, and it smelled freshly brewed, too. She made her way into the sitting room and saw Sherlock standing in the kitchen, waiting for her coffeemaker to finish. “Did you go to sleep at all?” she asked as she got closer.

“No,” he replied, not looking up at her. “I don't really sleep anymore. Three or four hours a night at most, when I do actually get to sleep.”

“How on earth do you function?” she asked, her jaw hanging slightly.

“I've trained my body to function on less sleep,” he said with a shrug. “I can only go two days without any sleep, though, and then I sleep for eight to ten hours. I can't help it so I only push myself to that limit when I'm somewhere safe.”

She moved closer to him, going to the cabinet above the coffeemaker and pulling down another mug. It looked as though he had made a full pot, so she could at least have one cup. Once she had her mug she moved around him and went to another cabinet, pulling down her sugar for him. She hoped he still took his coffee with two sugars. “When was the last time you slept?”

“Nearly two days ago. It wasn't safe for me to sleep on my way back, and my meeting with Mycroft took longer than anticipated. And then when I got here there was the complication with your unwanted gift. I've been awake all night going over everything I've learned the last two years.” He looked at her, then pointed to the table. “I owe you some notepads. And two pens.”

She looked over at the table and her eyes widened. She usually kept a small handful of notepads scattered around her desk and sitting room of various page counts. She could see quite a few of them on the table, spread out to cover the entire left side of the table. From her vantage point she could see eight, she thought. And the right side of the table was littered with a rather large pile of wadded up paper. “You've been busy.”

“I've learned a lot about Moriarty's organization the last few years,” he said. “I know the general hierarchy of command, the various illegal operations around the world that I've dismantled, the location and scopes of illegal organizations I _wasn't_ able to completely dismantle, and names of people who I've taken down or taken out. And all of that is on those notepads.”

She blinked slightly at the 'taken down or taken out' statement. She wondered if that meant he had killed people. He'd probably had to, to keep himself safe, but the way he said it so bluntly made her worried. Perhaps he really was more damaged now than he had been before. “Did you...?” she asked.

“Kill people?” he asked, looking at her. She nodded. “Not often. Every single time was in self-defense, though. I don't like doing it even though I would probably do it again to protect myself or someone I cared about.” She must have changed her expression because he looked away. “You don't approve.”

“It's not that,” she said after a moment. “I just don't like it. Killing someone changes a person, I think, even if they kill someone to keep themselves or someone else safe. Only a psychopath or a sociopath wouldn't feel anything when he kills someone.”

“I'm a high-functioning sociopath,” he said with a slight shrug.

“I call bollocks on that notion,” she said.

“Well, it's the truth. I've had that diagnosis for fourteen years now.”

“I'll prove to you it's not,” she said. He looked over at her sharply and she moved away from the kitchen, going to a bookshelf in her sitting room. She pulled out her copy of the DSM-5 and then took it back into the kitchen, setting it on the counter hard. She began flipping through it until she found the entry for what Sherlock had most likely been diagnosed with when he was younger. “Why, exactly, did you jump off the roof of the hospital?”

“Because people would die if I didn't,” he said, giving her a confused look.

“A sociopath wouldn't do something like that,” she said, pointing to the entry she had looked up. “A sociopath has an actual diagnosis of antisocial personality disorder, or dissocial personality disorder, depending on what medical text you're reading. This book goes with the former. As you can read right here, it's characterized by, and I quote, 'a pervasive pattern of disregard for and violation of the rights of others occurring since age 15 years.'”

“And I've met most of the criteria to substantiate that diagnosis,” he said, pointing to the list underneath. “Failure to conform to social norms, deception, irritability and aggressiveness, lack of remorse and reckless disregard for the safety of self or others. I only needed to exhibit three of those to qualify for the disorder. I've exhibited five”

“All right, let me ask a question. Do you regret killing the people you killed?” she asked.

He nodded slowly. “Yes, for the most part.”

“How many don't you regret?”

He thought for a moment. “One.”

“So that's one out of how many?” she asked, tilting her head.

“Eight,” he said. “But that's one too many.”

“The fact that you think it's one too many means you do regret it, at least partially. That's remorse, Sherlock. You have it.” 

He was quiet. “All right. I'll concede that point.”

She nodded. “Let me try another line of thought. Do you still intend to run roughshod over the people you know? People like John and Mrs. Hudson and Greg and I? People you claim to care about?”

“Only if I absolutely have to,” he said. 

“And are you going to do it to complete strangers?”

“Most likely, but generally not just for the sake of doing it. I'll do it if I have a reason.”

“Are you going to purposefully put any of us in danger? Friends or strangers?”

“Not purposefully,” he said.

“So you do have some regard for the rights of others as well as the safety of others. So far that's two of those criteria that don't apply to you anymore, as well as part of the actual diagnosis. So let's move on to irritability and aggression. When are you most irritable?”

“When I'm around people who are incredibly stupid, or people who interfere with me when I'm trying to think.”

“Which also applies to most people in the world,” she pointed out. “It applies to me, to John, to Greg...I wouldn't be surprised if it applies to Mrs. Hudson as well and she's got the patience of a saint.”

“All right, that I can agree to. But I'm still aggressive,” he pointed out.

“When are you aggressive? I mean, in what specific situations?”

He was quiet. “When I'm annoyed. Or when I'm trying to protect myself.”

“Or protect someone else?” she asked. He nodded. “Almost everyone in the world is like that, Sherlock. Are you aggressive without provocation? Is aggression the solution to everything to you?”

“No,” he conceded.

“So it doesn't truly apply, I'd wager.” She glanced back at the page. “Deception I'm not going to try and entirely refute because in all honesty, to do what you do you need to lie very well. But you don't do it all the time, do you? I mean, do you lie for the sake of lying? Do you con people to specifically hurt them like a con artist would?”

“No. I lie when the need arises, though,” he said.

“And so do most people,” she said. “Now, failure to conform to social norms I'm also not going to try and completely refute. But you can act like a normal human being when you choose, so you can conform _sometimes_.”

“But it all comes back to the 'high-functioning' part of the diagnosis,” he said. “I can function in society. That's the whole point of the diagnosis.”

She closed the book with a slam and glared at him. “Well, if you're a high-functioning sociopath then I must be one too, because in this entire conversation I've felt the exact same way as you have on most of these subjects. Do you think _I'm_ a high-functioning sociopath, Sherlock?”

“No, I don't,” he said, surprised.

“Well, if we're that similar and you don't think I'm a high-functioning sociopath then chances are you aren't one either. So don't you dare say that about yourself around me again.”

He looked at her with slightly wide eyes. “I don't think I've ever had anyone actually try and convince me I wasn't one before,” he said.

“I've seen you change so much over the last few years, Sherlock,” she said, her glare softening. “A few years ago I may have agreed with that diagnosis, but now I don't. You're a different man now. Don't let a diagnosis that really doesn't apply anymore influence who you choose to be now.”

He nodded. “I'll try not to.”

“Good,” she said with an emphatic nod of her own. He gave her a faint smile, looking at her until the coffee finished brewing. Then he turned his attention to the coffee, pulling the coffeepot out and pouring her a cup before pouring himself a cup. Soon afterward they each prepared their cups. “Now that that's settled, do you want to tell me what you've come up with by using up all my notepads and two of my pens?”

“There was an upper echelon of people involved in all of this I couldn't crack,” he said, picking up his coffee and moving towards the table. She followed him after a moment. “There are at least one, and no more than two. Any more than that and there would have been a power struggle that would have consumed the organization. If it really was Moriarty who died on that roof then the organization should have collapsed under the lack of leadership. I mean, it could have continued for a time, but there would have been a struggle for power between the second-in-command and anyone who wanted to usurp the power he held. And yet the organization continued like a well-oiled machine. Hence my theory that the man who killed himself on the roof wasn't really James Moriarty.”

She was quiet for a moment as she picked up a notepad and flipped through it. “Do you think the man was really Richard Brooks, then?”

Sherlock shook his head. “The information I gathered over the last two years shows he didn't really exist. Richard Brooks was definitely created for the game Moriarty wanted me to play. But the evidence doesn't support Moriarty being the one who killed himself on the roof.”

“But what if he was?” she asked, setting down the notepad before taking a sip of her coffee.

“He wasn't,” Sherlock said adamantly.

“Humor me,” Molly said, setting her coffee down on the table. “He had an obsession with you. People with obsessions do things people don't understand. What if it really was Moriarty on the roof, and he'd set up a contingency plan? For example, what if he only told his second-in-command what he was going to do?”

“But it still won't work,” he said, following her lead in setting his coffee down. He followed that by crossing his arms. “There would be a power struggle. The organization continued on as if nothing had changed until I began working harder to take it apart.”

“But what if most of the other people in the organization had never actually met Moriarty face to face? Or had met the subordinate who pretended to be Moriarty? I mean, I know during the trial they referred to him as James Moriarty, but what if most of the people in the organization thought it was a ruse because it wasn't the Moriarty _they_ met. Then he could have easily killed himself on that roof and left someone in charge to continue on as Moriarty. I mean, hadn't he been planning this game for years? I could see a demented genius doing something exactly like that.”

Sherlock was quiet for a moment, and then he hung his head as he planted both hands on the table. “The entire time I only asked for a description of what Moriarty looked like, and they all matched the man on trial, the man on the roof. I never once showed anyone a picture of who I was talking about to confirm it was, in fact, that man they were dealing with,” he said quietly. “It wouldn't be hard to wear a wig or prosthetics to look closer to how someone else may have looked. And that's if they saw him at all. From the way the organization was run there was a lot that could be done simply with phone calls or encrypted emails.”

“So my theory could be just as valid as yours,” she said.

“Yes, it could be,” he said. Then he sighed. “If it's true I'm no closer to figuring out how to stop this new player from hurting you.”

“Then I suppose you'll just have to be my live-in bodyguard,” she said halfheartedly.

“I suppose,” he said, turning to look at her. “But I will keep you safe. It's my fault you're involved in this.”

“It is, but it's also Mycroft's,” she said.

“Yes, he told me he'd had Moriarty in his grasp and had to let him go,” he said. “After he told him everything Moriarty would ever need to know about me, of course.”

“He was trying to protect the greater good,” she said.

“And he didn't care if he threw me under the bus in the process,” he pointed out. “The life of one is worth the life of many according to Mycroft, even if the one life is his own brother.”

“Maybe, maybe not,” she said gently, putting a hand on his arm. “He might never be able to fix what he did to you, not completely, but he's at least trying to keep me safe because it's something you had insisted on. It's a start.”

He thought about it for a moment. “Yes, I suppose it is,” he said. He straightened up at that point, and she removed her hand from his arm. “We should make a few plans. When I can reveal I'm alive, I'd like to attempt to go back to my old life as much as possible.”

“Well, Mycroft already told me it's not safe for me to stay here,” she said. “Where are you planning on staying?”

“I was hoping to go back to 221B Baker Street,” he said. “To me, that's home. But it would put Mrs. Hudson at risk and I don't want to do that.”

“Then a third location would probably be best,” she said.

He was quiet for a few moments. “Did Mycroft say why you couldn't stay here?”

“No, he didn't, but I'm sure he has his reasons,” she said, shaking her head. “Why does it matter?”

“If Mycroft has his way he'll lock us up in a safe house until the problem takes care of itself, which isn't going to happen. I need freedom of movement to solve this puzzle, and you shouldn't have to be cooped up inside while I get to leave. You'd resent the both of us in less than a week. If I can convince Mycroft it's in everyone's best interest if I reside here and keep you close then we both get the freedom we need and you're not inconvenienced any more than you need to be. And if he tries to say he can't keep you safe in your own home I'll go into painstaking detail on just how he can.”

She gave him a small smile. “I would prefer to stay here. But what about my post?”

“You'll most likely need to take a leave of absence.”

She sighed. “I was afraid you'd say that.”

He was quiet for a few seconds. “How do you think John will react to me actually being alive?”

“Not well,” she said, frowning. “We've drifted apart since you left, but he seems to have built a life for himself that I'm not sure he'll want you to be a part of.”

“What type of life?” he asked curiously.

“He's working solely with the clinic now, even though Greg offered him the opportunity to consult on the side if he wanted to. He's been in and out of relationships, never sticking with someone for longer than a month. And he moved out of your home. I don't see him moving back in for a long while, if ever. And he doesn't want to talk about you at all. If anyone mentions you he still gets quite upset and then he changes the subject. He's also gotten into a few scrapes with people who insist you were a fraud. I think someone broke his arm at one point, but he said he got the better of the man in the end.”

“I was afraid of that,” he said, sighing and hanging his head again. “I suppose I won't know how badly he'll take it until I actually see him face to face.” He paused. “How are the others?”

“Mrs. Hudson misses you terribly. I gather she looked at you as though you were her son. I think she'd be quite overjoyed to know you're actually alive, especially if you want to go home after the threat is taken care of. And Greg's doing all right, I suppose. They tried to demote him but I gather your brother stepped in to keep that from happening. I don't see him much for cases any more, though. I think they're keeping him away from the types of cases he used to work. We do go out for a pint every once a week or so and talk. Aside from work not going well he's happy. His divorce got finalized a few months ago and he seems to be much happier in that regard.”

“And I suppose he's made a move towards you?” Sherlock asked, looking at her.

“What? No. God no,” she said, shocked. “Why on earth would you think _that_?”

“The way he looked at you at the Christmas party,” he said. “When you took off your coat he was quite impressed.”

She blushed slightly, looking down. “Even if he was interested in me he's not my type, and the only types of feelings I hold towards him are the fond friendly kind. I haven't dated much since you left but I wouldn't date Greg. Or John either, for that matter. They're friends and nothing more.”

“I see,” Sherlock said. “I apologize for implying otherwise.”

“It's all right.” She waited until her cheeks no longer felt warm before she looked at him again. “Why did you ask about John before we got sidetracked?”

“I work better with a partner,” he said, turning to face her. “If John isn't willing to do it again I could use your help until this matter is resolved and you can go back to your post. It would allow me to keep you close, for one, and you're just as intelligent as John is, if not more so.”

“Well, I suppose I could do that, so long as I don't need to actually go back to the morgue,” she said, tilting her head. “It would be awkward standing there getting autopsy results as your partner instead of giving them to you as the specialist registrar doing the autopsy.”

“We can work around that,” he said with a nod. “But you're willing to be my partner?”

She nodded. “I am. At least this way I can leave the house and have that freedom you think we both need. I'll need to take a sabbatical of some sort, I think, where I don't actually work but I'm around to give testimony on the cases I need to.”

“How many do you think you'll need to handle?” he asked.

She was quiet as she thought for a moment. “The three in ten days and then two more the week after that. There may be more but I'm sure the hospital and I can work out an arrangement if Mycroft finds a way to insist they accommodate me.”

“Then we'll plan on doing those and having you help me consult the rest of the time,” he said. He picked up his coffee again. “If Scotland Yard will let me consult, at any rate. Hopefully the information my brother is presenting to Lestrade's superiors will convince them I truly am innocent and they'll allow me to come back.”

“Have you thought about what you'll do if they don't?” she asked.

“Take on private cases again, I suppose. It all comes down to how well Mycroft and Scotland Yard can reverse the public's opinion.”

“There are quite a few people in Scotland Yard who never believed the charges against you,” she said. “Greg is one of them, but I know there are others. And for as many people who believed that article there's just as many who didn't.”

“That's comforting to hear,” he said before taking a sip of his coffee. “I suppose we'll just have to wait and see how much it helps.”

“I guess we will,” she said as she picked up her own coffee again and took a sip. They stayed quiet for a few moments before she spoke. “I don't know about you but I'm starving. Do you want breakfast?”

He nodded. “Was there anything in particular you wanted to make?”

“I'm not quite sure. How about we go into the kitchen and you tell me what I've got that interests you?” she suggested.

“All right,” he replied. With that the two of them took their coffees back into the kitchen as she thought about everything that had happened that morning. If Sherlock could convince Mycroft that it was in everyone's best interest that she and Sherlock remain at her home that would help ease her mind so much, and right now any little bit of that would help.


	3. Chapter 3

The time went by very slowly while they waited for Scotland Yard to do its work and verify the evidence presented about Sherlock's innocence. The date of the first trial she needed to testify at was fast approaching and she was becoming more and more worried. Mycroft had rather reluctantly agreed to let the two of them stay at her home, but she knew he had increased his surveillance and if she did have to leave she knew full well he wanted Sherlock nice and close, which wasn't going to be an option if Scotland Yard kept taking its time about things.

Finally the morning before the trial Sherlock got a call while they were relaxing after breakfast. The more he spoke to the person on the other end of the line the more she started to think that this was the good news they had both been hoping for. In the middle of the conversation he grabbed her remote and turned on her television, flipping through the channels until he found live coverage of a press conference. He stood up, pulling the phone away from his ear and moving closer. She joined him and saw the headline under the image of the people delivering the press conference. “James Moriarty behind crimes Sherlock Holmes was accused of,” she murmured.

He pointed the remote at the television and flipped to another channel. “Sherlock Holmes found innocent of accusations from Kitty Riley,” he said. Then he flipped to a third. “Richard Brooks proved a fake.” She glanced at him to see he had a small grin on his face. He put the phone back to his ear. “Where is John right now?” he asked the person on the other end, who she assumed was Mycroft at this point. He was quiet for a moment, nodding slightly before he spoke again. “I'll tell him first, then Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade. After that you can tell the world I am, in fact, alive.” There was another pause. “Understood,” he said before pulling the phone away from his ear and ending the call.

“So it's safe for you to come out of hiding?” she asked.

“Yes,” he replied.

“What was the 'understood' bit about?” she asked.

“That I not tell John on the premises of the clinic,” he said. “Mycroft thought it would be ill-advised.”

“Yeah, I would think so too,” she said with a nod. “Do we want to go now?”

“In a little while. Mycroft is having something delivered first.”

“What, exactly?”

“The type of clothing I usually wear,” he said. “I've gotten used to this clothing but I want to look like my old self before I tell the others the truth.”

“I wouldn't, if I was you,” she said.

“Why?” he asked.

“Because I see a bloody nose in your future, at the very least,” she said. “John's going to be shocked at first, and then I think he's going to be quite angry, and most likely he'll take a swing at you. And I'm very sure he'll make sure that swing connects with your face.”

He was quiet for a moment. “What would you suggest, then?”

“Go in what you wore when you arrived. I think once you have your suits and your coat again you won't go back to the more casual clothing so it doesn't matter if it gets bloodied or dirty,” she replied. “Once you tell him the truth then you can come back and change.”

He thought about it for a moment and then nodded slowly. “That makes sense. Let's go change, then.”

She nodded, heading towards the stairs with him right behind her. Her bedroom was farther down the hall and so she went into her bedroom and stripped out of her pyjamas, tossing them into her hamper. She stood in front of her dresser to figure out what to wear. In an effort to feel more confident she had updated her wardrobe, and so she had items to choose from that didn't make her look quite as frumpy. She selected a tighter fitting blue button down blouse and denim trousers, and when she was done she went into the bathroom to fix her hair quickly. It didn't want to cooperate, so she finally settled for a loose bun at the nape of her neck. When she was finished she saw Sherlock in the attire he had been in the day he had arrived at her door. “I'm ready,” she said.

He studied her for a moment. “You've changed how you dress,” he replied.

She nodded. “Well, you've only really seen me in pyjamas and my dressing gown since you got here. I had thought it might be nice if I looked more sophisticated, not that anyone noticed. I spent all my time around dead bodies, not living breathing men. But it does make me feel better.”

“You looked perfectly fine before,” he said.

“To you, maybe. But it's not like you ever noticed me that way,” she said. “Even at the Christmas party, when I made it a point to dress up, you didn't notice that I looked better than I usually did. You just saw me as plain old Molly Hooper.”

“You haven't been 'plain old Molly Hooper' to me for quite some time,” he said quietly.

She blushed slightly. “Well, that's nice to know, I suppose. Thank you for the compliment.”

He nodded, looking at her for a few moments as she looked back until it appeared he was getting uncomfortable. “We should go now. The sooner we tell John the sooner we can inform the others.”

“If he doesn't give you a broken nose and a black eye first,” she replied as he headed down her stairs with her following. “Because if that's the case we're getting you some ice and getting your nose set.”

“I can defend myself,” he said. “And even if he's angry, this is John. He won't hurt me too badly.”

“Sherlock, he's spent two years thinking you're dead. _Two years._ And you're about to tell him it was all one elaborate lie. Even if you manage to get out the why I doubt he's going to want to hear it.”

“But it's _John_ ,” he said. He got to the bottom of the stairs and turned to look at her. For the moment they were almost exactly at eye level. “He might get violent but it's not as though he's going to attempt to kill me.”

“Have you ever been a soldier, Sherlock? Trained as a soldier?” she asked, crossing her arms. “Because I was out with him one time when he got into an altercation. He had a black eye at the end of it. The other man had three cracked ribs and a radial fracture in his arm when John was done, and that's only because I was horrified at what I was seeing and John stopped before he did even more damage. The other man started it, mind you, and John was simply defending himself, but it was still a brutal fight. He _will_ hurt you, and I don't think you really realize just how badly it can go.”

He was quiet for a moment. “I didn't realize.”

She stepped down to be on the same level as him. “No, I know you didn't. He isn't the same as he was. While you were gone he had to deal with hate mail on his blog, people accusing him of being complicit in your elaborate ruses and other people looking to start fights. He had a reputation by his close association with you that the rest of us don't have, except possibly Greg. So you need to not take this lightly because he is going to be absolutely livid.”

“Then what should I do?” he asked.

“I'll ask him for a cup of coffee and a quick walk in the gardens near the clinic, just to chat. We did that sometimes before. And then I'll bring him to you. At least that way there might be less people around to get in the middle of this, or possibly more incentive to not do anything that might get him arrested. Hopefully he doesn't get too out of hand because I'm there, though once he realizes I knew the truth he may turn some of his anger towards me.”

“If he lays a hand on you I will hurt him,” Sherlock said quietly.

“I don't think he will. He may yell and get in my face, but I don't think he'll raise a hand to me no matter how angry he gets. And that may be the only thing that stops you from being in a world of hurt.” She moved around him to get her coat. “If I call him now I can meet him somewhere while you wait.”

“Then make the call,” he said.

She nodded and then went back up the stairs to her bedroom. She got her mobile off the charger and went back downstairs, pulling up John's contact as she walked down her stairs. She put her phone to her ear and waited for him to answer. On the third ring she heard a click. “Molly. This is a surprise,” he said.

“Well, I wanted to see if you were up for a cup of coffee and maybe a chat,” she said.

“I have to be at the clinic at nine, but I suppose I can come in later, just this once,” she said. “Do we want to meet at the coffee shop near the clinic?”

“All right. But I'm in the mood to take a quick walk at the Chelsea Physic Garden. Always better if I have company for that.”

He chuckled. “That is true. Half hour, then?”

“I'll see you then.” She hung up and looked at Sherlock. “We'll take you to the garden first, then I'll go meet him.”

Sherlock nodded. “Then lead the way.”

Molly went around him again, slipping her mobile into her handbag before grabbing it. She opened the door and they both headed outside, and after she locked up she went and hailed them a cab. One pulled over fairly quickly, and she and Sherlock got in. They remained quiet as they got to the entrance to the garden, and Molly paid the driver before they got out. “All right. There is a bench on the path, not too far in. Wait for us there, all right?”

“All right,” he said. Sherlock made his way to the bench and Molly began to walk the two blocks to the coffee shop.

She spotted John right away, and she opened the door and stepped inside. He'd already ordered a coffee, and she waved at him before getting in line to place her own order. When she was done she joined him as he waited. “Hello, John,” she said with a smile.

“Hello, Molly,” he said. “Been a while since you've fancied a chat.”

“Well, I'm sure you saw the press conference this morning,” she said quietly.

He nodded slowly. “Yeah, I did. All they were doing is confirming what I've known the whole time. It bloody took them long enough.”

“Moriarty did a good job of setting up that smear campaign,” she said. “It was going to take time for Scotland Yard to unravel it all. But this is a good thing.”

“I suppose,” he said, relaxing slightly. “Thank you for thinking I'd want company.”

“You're welcome,” she said, trying to stamp down on the feeling of guilt that threatened to bubble up to the surface. In just a few minutes she was going to upend his life almost completely, and while she knew it was for a good reason this was going to not be pretty. Their orders were finished shortly afterward, and they made their way to the garden in near silence. They made it inside and Molly could see Sherlock stand up when they approached. “John, I have something to tell you,” she said quietly as they got closer.

“Something bad?” he asked, not even realizing Sherlock was close.

“No. It's...” She trailed off before stopping in front of Sherlock.

“Hello, John,” Sherlock said from in front of him.

John stood stock still, staring at Sherlock. His mouth opened slightly, and then closed. Then he turned to Molly, then back to Sherlock. “You're alive,” he said quietly when he finally spoke. “You're really alive.”

“Yes,” Sherlock said. “I faked my death.”

“I saw you fall from the roof. I saw you broken on the pavement. I saw the blood. I mean, I couldn't feel a pulse,” he said. “How could you _possibly_ survive that?”

“There was a trick with a rubber ball,” he said. “I survived mostly thanks to Molly.”

He looked back at her, and then shook his head before moving to the bench and sitting down. “The last two years you've been alive,” he said to himself before looking over at Sherlock. “What in the bloody hell were you doing?”

Sherlock cautiously moved closer. Molly was actually quite shocked at how well John was taking this. She watched as Sherlock sat down on the bench next to him. When John didn't object, he leaned forward and put his elbows on his thighs, resting his chin on his knuckles. “Moriarty was on the roof of the hospital. He told me there was no code, and that he had snipers set on my friends. I told him as long as he was alive he could call them off, so he pulled out a gun and put it in his mouth and pulled the trigger. I had to fall, to keep all of you safe.”

“And you knew that, when I went into the lab to tell you about Mrs. Hudson?” he asked.

Sherlock shook his head. “I knew he was going to be on the roof and that that was my only chance to reverse things. But as I just said, it didn't work. I didn't know he was going to kill himself. But I couldn't let him kill all of you, so I did the only thing I could do. I fell from the roof.”

John ran a hand down his face. “I should punch you, you know. I should take a few swings and rough you up enough so you can feel a tiny fraction of the pain I've been through the last two years. I should yell and shout and not listen to reason.”

“So why aren't you doing that?” Molly asked curiously.

“Because when I saw the press conference that glimmer of hope I'd had that I could get a miracle came back,” he said, looking up at her. “When you called out of the blue it got brighter. We aren't close anymore, and while there was always the chance you were calling out of genuine concern I hoped I might get lucky and get that miracle. Then you suggested the walk and I was fairly sure that would be the outcome.” He turned back to Sherlock. “I picked up a few things from you since you entered my life, you know.”

“Your deductive reasoning is sound,” Sherlock said approvingly.

“So it's all over? We're all safe?” he asked.

“Sadly, no. Not all of us,” he replied. “Molly has been threatened, and by extension I have too. Someone knows she helped me, and it put a wrinkle in the game that Moriarty had initiated. She's at risk of being harmed.”

John nodded. “Is that why you came back? To solve this puzzle?”

He shook his head. “No. Mycroft called me back over a week ago for other reasons. The night I arrived Molly had a package delivered to her home that was disturbing. I've been staying with her ever since.”

“And I take it your brother doesn't want you letting her out of your sight,” he said.

“He wants me to stay close. This could be a quick affair, but if the person who threatened her is anything like Moriarty I think we're going to settle into a long wait for there to be any serious developments.” Sherlock sat up and leaned back into the bench. “For the time being Molly is going to assist me.”

“Good, because I don't want to go back to that life, not all the time,” John said before taking a sip of his coffee. “I mean, it was good before. I got a thrill out of it and really, you did save me. But I don't think I can put myself through all of that again. No one's tried to kill me lately, and no one's really tried to upend my life. It's been a nice change of pace, at least when I wasn't mucking things up for myself.”

“I see,” Sherlock said.

“I might help occasionally,” John said, giving him a slight grin. “I'll admit, I did miss it. I still do, sometimes. But it won't be the way it was before. I mean, it can't be the way it was before. You can't have me around every hour of every day, and complain when I don't cater to your every whim. I have a life that I like, for the most part. I think it's about time for me to start becoming an older, more mature man.”

“You aren't that old,” Molly said with a smile.

“I'm older than the both of you,” he said, turning to her and chuckling slightly. Then he looked back at Sherlock. “We need to talk, though. At length. I want to know as much as you're willing to tell me about everything. I have every right to know, considering.”

“Yes, you do,” Sherlock replied with a nod.

“I can cook for the three of us tonight,” Molly said.

“That sounds like a good idea,” John said with a nod before standing up. “I should be off by six thirty at the latest.”

Sherlock stood up as well after a moment. “I'm glad you didn't punch me,” he said.

“Oh, I might do that anyway, depending on what exactly you've been doing while you've been gone,” he replied with a small grin. Then he roughly embraced Sherlock. “I really am glad you're alive, Sherlock.”

Sherlock was surprised, but he rather awkwardly patted his back. “I'm glad you're happy to see me.”

“It's not every day you get a miracle,” he said when he pulled away. Then he moved over to Molly, leaning in the kiss her cheek as she kissed his. “You be safe, all right?”

“I've got Sherlock protecting me. I'm not worried.” She gave him a wider smile when he pulled away. “We'll see you around seven then?”

He nodded. “If I'll be earlier or later I'll call to let you know. Who are you going to see next?”

“Mrs. Hudson, I suppose,” Sherlock said.

John shook his head. “Go see Greg first. He wanted that miracle badly, too. He deserves to know now.” John started to turn, lifting up his coffee to wave at them “See you both around seven.” And then he walked away, back towards his clinic.

Molly and Sherlock looked at each other with slightly shocked expressions. “That went better than expected,” he replied.

“That, Sherlock, is an understatement,” she said before taking a sip of her coffee. “Do you want to get a cup of coffee before we go to Scotland Yard?”

He shook his head. “I can get one afterward. But before I make this trip I'd like to return to your home and see if my suit and coat have been delivered. I would feel much more like myself in them.”

“Of course,” she said as they began walking towards the entrance to the park. “Are you going to attempt to do something with your hair again?”

“Perhaps dye it back to my natural shade and wait for it to grow out,” he said.

“I don't know. I quite like the way you look now,” she said thoughtfully. “You look a bit more...approachable.”

“That's just the clothing I'm in right now.”

“No, it's not that. Well, it's not just that,” she said. “I mean, you've always been striking, but now you don't look so cold and foreboding. I like the shorter hair and the warmer shade.”

“Then perhaps I'll keep them for now,” he replied. “I suppose a bit of change won't hurt. It certainly didn't hurt for you.”

“Yes, well, it wasn't very successful,” she said before taking a sip of her drink. “The whole point of me changing was to get noticed, and that didn't happen.”

“Perhaps it wasn't a drastic enough change.”

“Perhaps. But mostly I think it's because I don't spend a lot of time with people and I certainly don't spend significant time with anyone I'm attracted to, or people who are attracted to me. Though I suppose it's for the best I'm alone right now. Things might get complicated if I had a boyfriend.”

“Because I've taken up residence in your home?” he asked as they exited the park.

“That wasn't what I was thinking of but yes, that probably would pose a problem too,” she said thoughtfully.

“What were you thinking of?” he asked curiously.

“That it was someone else who could get hurt in this new game being played,” she said. “I know you and your brother want to protect me, but if I had a boyfriend I'm not sure if the protection would be extended to him, and that wouldn't be right.”

“We think very differently about things, I suppose,” he said.

“We always have, Sherlock. You're more logical than I am. Logically any man would get upset if another man moved into his girlfriend's home, especially if it's someone she has a history with.”

“We don't have that type of history, though,” he pointed out.

“Anyone who knew me knew I fancied you,” she said with a shrug. “And I'm fairly sure I would have told any boyfriend about that sooner or later. To be honest, I'm just surprised I didn't think of it. I'm usually the one who thinks about how people feel, not you.”

“Jealousy is an emotion I can understand,” he replied. “I don't like it, but I understand it.”

“No one likes feeling jealous, Sherlock,” she said as she reached over to hail them an approaching cab, but the cab drove right by. She hung her head slightly. “I am never really good at that. I'm too short to be noticed.”

“I would think cabs would be more inclined to pull over for a female rather than a male,” he said, reaching out to hail a different cab. This one stopped for them. “Apparently I'm wrong.”

“In this case, yeah. But that's okay,” she said, giving him a grin and getting a faint smile in return. “I'm surprised that you admitted you were wrong about something, though. You have, since the day I met you, insisted you were right about everything.”

“I've miscalculated a few times,” he said, opening the door for her. He said nothing when she slipped inside, and when he joined her she gave the driver her address. It wasn't until the cab pulled away that he spoke again. “I made mistakes about Moriarty, obviously, but I've also made mistakes about you.”

“I suppose the mistakes involving me were much more trivial than the ones involving Moriarty,” she said as she had some more of her drink. “They didn't have life or death consequences.”

“That is true,” he said, settling back into the seat. He was quiet for a few moments as the cab began to weave through traffic. “I would do it all again, you know. Falling off the roof, faking my death...if it kept all of you safe I would do it again. I think the only thing I might have done differently was pat Moriarty down for the gun, but even then I think he would have found a way to die so I had to do what he wanted.”

“He wanted you to play that game, but you outsmarted him,” she said.

“But now there's a new game, and I'm not sure what the rules are,” he said as he sighed. “We're both going to be second guessing ourselves as I try and finish it.”

“Maybe. As long as we don't make a fatal mistake we can always try and correct whatever mistakes it is we make,” she said. “But just remember I can help. I mean, it affects me, so I want to do everything I can to make sure we both get out of this alive.”

“We just need to make sure that we, along with anyone else that gets pulled into it, stay safe.” He turned to look out the window. “I still hate the uncertainty of it all.”

“I know you do.” He didn't respond, and they lapsed into silence for the rest of the ride. Once the cab arrived at her home she paid and they got out. When she opened the door she wasn't surprised to see two garment bags hanging on her coat rack and a pair of shoes near the base. “I don't care whether your brother had someone pick my lock or he had a key,” she said darkly as Sherlock retrieved the clothing. “If he does it again I'll raise holy hell.”

“I'll make sure he understands you're displeased,” he said.

“Do that,” she said with a nod. “I'm going to wait in the sitting room while you change.”

He nodded and then made his way upstairs. She sat in her favorite chair and picked up the magazine she had been attempting to read earlier that morning before Sherlock got the call. She had been reading for nearly ten minutes when she heard him clear his throat. She turned and saw him standing there in a dark grey suit and a crisp white shirt with a familiar looking coat draped over his arm. “I feel more like my old self,” he said.

“You certainly look like you're more comfortable,” she said with a grin as she stood up. “Is that your old coat?”

He shook his head. “A replacement. There was too much blood on the old one. I actually like this one better, though. It's an improvement.”

She moved closer to him, and when she got close enough she took a look at him, a small frown on her face. “This suit looks a little big,” she said after a moment of studying him.

“It's one of my old ones,” he said. “I've lost enough weight for it to be noticeable.” He put on the coat, which she admitted looked like it fit him better. “Apparently there is money in a bank account for me to use to survive until I begin working again. I'll be using part of it to replenish my wardrobe since I doubt anything I didn't bring here with me will fit now.”

“Don't get rid of them, though,” she said. “If you stay with me for a while I'm going to make sure you actually eat and take care of yourself. You'll fit them again soon enough, hopefully.”

“I can make five new suits work well enough,” he said. He flipped the collar of his coat up and she had to admit, aside from the hair being different and the suit hanging a little loose he looked just like he used to. It was a bit comforting to see that. He nodded towards the front door. “We should go see Lestrade now.”

She nodded. “Of course,” she said.

She got her handbag and they made their way to the door and stepped outside, and she locked up behind them. He went and hailed them another cab and told the driver to take them to Scotland Yard. Sherlock seemed to want to stay quiet so she didn't start a conversation with him this time. When they got to their destination she paid the driver and they got out. Sherlock strode confidently into the building, walking quickly enough that she had to hurry to keep up. They got to the front desk and the receptionist looked at him in shock. “Where is Detective Inspector Lestrade?” he asked.

“In his office,” she said, her eyes wide. “You...you're not dead.”

“No, I'm not,” he said. “Do we need visitor passes?”

“Yes,” she said, snapping out of her shock. She reached forward and after a moment she held up two laminated badges with clips. Sherlock clipped his to the lapel of his coat and then began walking forward towards the lift.

“Thank you,” Molly said to her before she hurried over to him. He had pressed the button and the door had opened by the time she got to him. “Were you at least going to wait for me?” she asked.

“Yes,” he said. “I just want to get this done with. Not because I don't want to inform Lestrade that I'm back but because I'm not in the mood to deal with his incompetent subordinates.”

“You mean Phillip and Sally?” she asked as they stepped inside. He gave her a blank look. “Anderson and Donovan.”

“Yes, those two,” he said.

“They aren't working with Greg anymore,” she said as he pressed the button for Lestrade's floor. “Phillip got sacked and the only place willing to give him a second chance was in the States, and Sally transferred to another division after what happened with you. It was the only way she'd ever get a promotion after everything.”

He was quiet for a moment. “Things really have changed,” he murmured. “Who is his subordinate now?”

“Detective Sergeant Jarrod Teague. Phillip's replacement is an American woman named Gabriela Cassetta. She came from the LAPD.”

“I certainly hope they're more competent than the people they replaced,” he said as the doors to the lift shut.

“Jarrod volunteered to work with Greg, and he's quite good,” Molly said. “I think Greg was surprised anyone wanted to work with him willingly, what with the taint that came with having you as his primary consultant. He probably feels quite vindicated right now.”

“He certainly looked that way at the press conference,” Sherlock replied. “Jarrod was the man standing next to him, I take it?”

She nodded. “Yes. He looks tough but he's actually quite polite and very nice, and incredibly smart.” He raised an eyebrow. “What?” she asked.

 “It almost sounds as if you fancy him,” he said.

“He's engaged and he has an infant daughter,” she said, shaking her head. “But he has manners, which I appreciate, and he has interesting stories to tell about his childhood and his military service. Occasionally he would join Greg and I for a pint after work.”

“Ah,” he said with a nod. “Have you met the other one yet?”

“Yes,” she replied. “She's a bit more standoffish. She's having trouble adjusting to being here, I think. But it was an opportunity for her to advance her career so she took it. She's in charge here.”

“Is there a chance Anderson will come back?” he asked.

“Oh no,” she replied. “Like I said, Phillip got sacked, so even if he wanted to come back to work here he wouldn't be able to. Scotland Yard wouldn't allow it. I mean, he could try and do some freelance work, but generally to do what he did he needed to go somewhere else. He got an opportunity in New York, I think, and so he took it.”

“Good. The man is an absolute imbecile and I'm glad he's someone else’s problem now,” he said.

She shook her head. “I never realized exactly how much you hate him,” she said. “What did he ever do to you?”

“The very first case we worked together he attempted to undermine my contributions,” he said. “He'd almost convinced Lestrade I was wrong. But Lestrade decided to go with my plan and we caught a killer before he murdered again. I've loathed him ever since and continuously been surprised Scotland Yard continued to employ him.”

“I see,” she said thoughtfully. “That would be a very good reason to despise him, I suppose.”

“I just hope the replacements are better when I have to work with them,” he said.

“If,” she said quietly. He turned to look at her sharply. “There's always the chance Scotland Yard won't let you consult again, even though your innocence has been proven.”

“It's in their best interest to let me,” he said in a slight huff.

“You've been gone two years,” she replied gently. “People didn't stop committing crimes while you were gone. Scotland Yard had to get by without you, and they did quite well.”

He was quiet for a moment. “I suppose we'll just have to wait and see, then,” he said quietly as the doors opened on the floor they needed. He walked out into the room, projecting confidence and the barest hint of irritation because everyone who spotted him turned to gawk. He made his way to Lestrade's office and saw the door was open. Lestrade had been staring at it, and a slow grin spread across his face when he saw Sherlock. “Lestrade,” he said with a nod.

“I was expecting you,” he said as he got up.

“I suppose John told you?” he asked with a sigh.

He shook his head. “Your brother was waiting for me at my home last night and told me the truth, that you were alive and had been taking down Moriarty's organization. He also told me he was the reason I didn't get demoted. I think he almost told me the entire truth. Can't really be sure with him.”

“No, I suppose not,” he conceded. “I can't even tell half the time and I'm his brother.”

“Well, I'm just glad that particular bit of news was true.” He then noticed Molly was at the doorway and frowned. “You haven't been at the hospital lately,” he said towards her.

“I'm on sabbatical for the foreseeable future,” she replied.

“What about your testimony for your cases?” he asked.

“Well, my personal bodyguard will be accompanying me, but I'll be there. An arrangement has been worked out with St. Bart's and Scotland Yard in that regard,” she said with a faint smile.

“Are you in trouble?” he asked. Then he turned to Sherlock. “Did your stunt get her in trouble?” Sherlock motioned for them to go inside of his office. Lestrade moved out of the way and both Sherlock and Molly came in and sat down. Lestrade shut the door behind them and then went to his chair. “What's going on that you don't want people overhearing, Sherlock?”

“Molly's involvement in helping me fake my death has put her in danger,” he said quietly. “I'm working on a few theories, but the two most prominent ones are that the man who died on that roof wasn't James Moriarty or he left behind detailed plans in case it turned out I had evaded his plans for me by not dying. I'm still not sure which theory is more valid.”

“How would he have known she helped you?” Lestrade asked curiously.

“She's a medical professional,” he said. “Even someone in her field has to go through all the training a regular doctor would go through. If the truth had come to light and the person in charge of the criminal organization found out, whether it was Moriarty or someone else, that would be the logical conclusion. Even if it was a stab in the dark they will have realized as soon as it becomes apparent that I am residing with her that she did indeed play a part in helping me fake my death.”

“Christ,” Lestrade said, running a hand down his face. “That's a complication neither of you needed.”

“Trust me, we know,” Molly said with a sigh. 

“Today is the first day I've been able to leave her home,” Sherlock said. “As soon as I'm done letting Mrs. Hudson know I'm alive I plan on examining the macabre gift left for Molly the night I returned from my travels.”

“What gift?” Lestrade asked.

“Black roses with the flowers cut off, a decapitated doll with a photograph of Molly's face on the head and a note,” Sherlock said. 

Lestrade leaned back in his seat, slightly stunned for a minute. Then he looked as though he snapped out of it. “Is there anything I can do?” Lestrade asked. “Because I want to help keep Molly safe, too.”

“I'm not entirely sure yet,” Sherlock admitted. “I need to see what I can learn from the florist's box and its contents first.”

“Do you know if the hospital is going to let you go back to using a lab there, since you aren't a consultant anymore?” Lestrade asked.

“I don't know,” he replied. “I know part of the reason I was allowed to use the lab was because of the work I did with Scotland Yard, but that wasn't the only reason.”

“Well, I could always use my new clout to get you reinstated as an official consultant,” he said with a slight grin.

“New clout?” Molly asked, slightly confused.

“Apparently the information Scotland Yard received was accompanied with a very strongly worded letter from your brother, Sherlock, insisting that I stop being punished for feeling differently on the subject of your innocence than my superiors. They want to promote me to superintendent, which I'm not sure I want to accept. I like what I do, solving murders, and I'm not sure new duties would allow me to do that.”

“A promotion would be good for you, though,” Molly said. “I mean, aside from the pay raise and the chance to do something less dangerous there's also the chance you'll anger your superiors if you _don't_ take the promotion.”

“Fair point,” Lestrade said with a nod. “But anyway, while they're feeling generous I can convince them to have you reinstated, Sherlock. But only if you actually want to do it. I'm not going to stick my neck out and have my head chopped off in thanks.”

“The cases from Scotland Yard always have been more challenging,” Sherlock replied.

“I'll take that as a yes, then?” Lestrade asked. Sherlock nodded. “I'll see what I can do. Should I extend it to John as your assistant as well?”

“It probably wouldn't hurt, though I doubt he'll do it often,” Sherlock said. “For now, though, Molly will be my assistant. I have things to find out and I can't do that if I'm trapped at the hospital while she does her regular job.”

“Do you actually want to do that?” Lestrade asked her.

“I'd like to try,” she said, nodding slowly. “I mean, Sherlock will be doing most of the work. I'll more or less just be a sounding board.”

“John was more than that for him,” Lestrade said when Sherlock opened his mouth to say something in response. “I'm sure you will be, too.”

“As much as I consider John a good assistant your experiences will be infinitely more valuable,” Sherlock told her. “You studied the science of death. That is something he never did.”

“I suppose that is true,” she conceded. “Still, I'm not brilliant like you are.”

Sherlock shut his eyes for a moment, as though he was trying very hard not to be irritated, and she was almost worried she'd said something that was going to cause him to explode in anger. “No, you're not, but neither was John,” he replied finally as he opened his eyes. “You sell yourself too short, Molly.”

Lestrade looked between them. “I think it's a good time to move on, yeah?” he asked. Both Sherlock and Molly nodded. “What do you need right now to start looking into this threat?”

“Access to a lab, preferably my old one,” he said. “And access to everything that was gathered regarding the man who killed himself on the roof. Evidence, crime scene photographs, autopsy results...all of it.”

“I'll see what I can get and how quickly I can get it,” Lestrade replied with a nod. “Your brother provided quite a bit of information as well, about how you were set up. Do you want that as well?”

Sherlock shook his head. “I gathered the majority of that information, and whatever I didn't Mycroft can give me on his own. But the rest of that is vital.”

“Then I'll start getting to work,” he said, standing up. “Who else have you told the truth to?”

“Just John,” Molly said as she and Sherlock stood as well.

Lestrade's eyes widened slightly. “And you weren't beaten to a bloody pulp?”

“He took it quite well, actually,” Sherlock replied. “When Molly had set things up for our reunion he realized there were very few reasons why she would do things as she did and he deduced that would most likely mean I was not, in fact, dead. He was quite happy to have his deductions proven right.”

“You were quite lucky,” Lestrade said. “He hit a rough spot for a long while. I had to pull some strings and make some promises to make sure he didn't get into serious trouble.”

“This ruse hurt quite a few of you, didn't it?” Sherlock asked thoughtfully.

“Yeah, but it's all right. It's going to take some getting used to, though, so even though we're happy we're still going to have to feel our way around things. It's not going to be the same as before because it really can't be,” Lestrade said. He went over to the door and then held out his hand to Sherlock. Sherlock took it and shook it. “If you're staying with Molly I'll have what I can get delivered to her home.”

“Thank you,” Sherlock said with a nod as he let go of Lestrade's hand. He stepped out of the doorway as Molly came up behind him.

“If you need anything, Molly, let me know, all right? I know Sherlock's there, but...” Lestrade said.

Molly nodded and then embraced him. “You'll be the first person I call,” she said softly.

“If he irritates you call me before you kill him,” he said just as quietly, and she chuckled as she pulled away. “I mean it, Molly.”

“I know you do,” she said, giving him a fond smile before she stepped out of his office. “You take care, Greg.”

“I will,” Lestrade said in response before shutting the door to his office.

Sherlock looked over at her and then motioned down the hallway. “What did he say to you, at the end?” he asked as they began to head back towards the lift.

“Just that I should call him if I feel like wanting to kill you,” she said. “I'm fairly sure John made those types of phone calls to him when you lived with him.”

“I'll try my best not to drive you to that point,” he said. “Mostly because I think you could do a more than adequate job of murdering me and leaving no trace.”

“Oh, I probably could, but I'm not that type of person,” she said with a smile. “But I do have more of a backbone these days. I'm not going to let you walk all over me and make me feel worthless and inferior. If you do something that displeases me I'm going to make sure you know and that you don't do it again.”

“I suppose it will be an entirely new experience living with you as opposed to John,” he said thoughtfully. “I know I shared a home with Mrs. Hudson but she had her own area, which means you will be the first woman I've really lived with since my mother. You and I are sharing a much smaller space, and you don't have an entire section of it to yourself. I think it's going to take some getting used to.”

“Yes, it will,” she said with a nod. “It's my home and I have things set up exactly how I want them. And not only that, but I do things women do that you'll simply have to deal with.”

“Such as?” he asked curiously

“For one, I feel absolutely wretched for a few days each month and you'll find no matter what you do I'm in a foul mood, and all I want to do is curl up in bed and ignore the world. I hang my undergarments up to dry in the washroom, for another. I also have all sorts of things in said washroom that I don't want you to touch. If you rummage through my cabinets I may severely hurt you.”

He was quiet for a moment. “I already did,” he said quietly.

She groaned. “Why didn't I expect that?” she said, more to herself than him.

“I won't pretend to know what most of that is used for,” he said. “But I was curious.”

“I sincerely hope you don't want me to explain things to you,” she said, glaring at him. “Because those are conversations I refuse to have with you.”

“I think it's definitely going to be a learning experience, living with you,” he said. “Hopefully it will not need to be for very long. Your life shouldn't have to be upended like this, and the sooner I can solve this problem I've gotten you into the better.”

“Yes, I would love to have my home back to myself,” she said. “But I suppose once we've established some ground rules we can manage to live together well enough.”

“We've done well enough so far without ground rules,” he pointed out.

“That was before you told me you went through my things,” she said with a hint of irritation. “So I'm going to come up with ground rules and you're going to follow them.”

“Do I get to have any say in this?” he asked as they got to the lift.

“No, you don't,” she said, pushing the button to call the lift to them quite hard. She should have expected him to go through her things, but if he went through the contents of her washroom she had to wonder what else he had gone through. After a moment she reined in her irritation somewhat and turned to him as the lift doors opened. “Now, onto a new topic. Have you thought about how you want to tell Mrs. Hudson you're actually alive?”

“Preferably in a way that doesn't send her into cardiac arrest,” he replied as they stepped inside the lift.

“So the answer is no?” she asked.

“I suppose,” he said with a sigh. “John took it well, Lestrade already knew, so there's always the chance this third revelation of the day won't go as expected either.”

“That is true.” She reached over to push the button for the ground floor. “I'd say this is one where you should do it gently. I mean, it's going to be a shock regardless, but...” She trailed off. “I don't even know how to verbalize what I mean.”

“I understand, though,” he said. “If I don't want her to be panicked I should do it in a way that doesn't make it quite as shocking. “

“More or less,” she said with a nod as the doors closed. “I can call her and see if she's at home, if you want.”

“I would appreciate that,” he said with a nod of his own.

She reached into her handbag and dug out her mobile, and then she scrolled through her contacts until she found Mrs. Hudson's home phone number. Mrs. Hudson didn't have a mobile, so if she didn't answer then that meant she wasn't home. Finally after three rings there was a click on the other end. “Hello?” Mrs. Hudson asked.

“Hello, Mrs. Hudson,” she said.

“Molly! It's quite lovely to hear from you, dear. How are you?” Mrs. Hudson asked.

“I've been better,” she said. “But it isn't too bad. How are you?

“Oh, I'm doing well enough. Trying to keep myself busy.”

“That's good to hear,” Molly said. “Are you free right now? I thought I could come over and we could have some tea and chat.”

“Of course, dear,” Mrs. Hudson replied. “Does this have to do with the news from this morning?”

“A bit, yeah,” Molly said. “I mean, it was a good thing, but a bit of a shock to those of us who knew him.”

“Well, I never believed the accusations, so it was only a shock that Scotland Yard actually got off their arses and confirmed what most of us who knew him have known from the start,” she said, with just the barest hint of anger in her voice. “But that's neither here nor there. I'll be here for the next few hours. Feel free to come over and we can enjoy some tea and each other’s company.”

“That sounds perfect,” she said. “I'll see you in about twenty minutes or so.”

“All right. I'll be waiting,” Mrs. Hudson said.

Molly hung up at that point and looked over at Sherlock. “Well, she was quite happy about the press conference this morning,” she said. “She basically said it was about time Scotland Yard went about proving your innocence.”

“Well, they needed the information I had gathered,” he said. “That wasn't all of what I was doing while I was gone, but that was a large part of it.”

“How much are you willing to talk about what you were doing?”

“A bit,” he replied. “I mean, I may go into a few details, but generally I don't want to dwell on it. I'll answer as many of John's questions tonight as he wants, but after that I'd prefer not to talk about it. I want to put it behind me.”

“Then I'll listen tonight and leave it at that when you're done,” she said as the lift stopped. The doors opened and they stepped out, and both of them unclipped their visitor badges and left them with the receptionist, who watched Sherlock with slightly wide eyes. He scowled at her before they left. “You need to get used to that.”

“It's an annoyance,” he replied.

“But it's also a really big shock,” she said. “People are going to stare and they're going to ask annoying questions and generally it's going to take some time for people to get used to you being alive and not dead.”

“I can handle it from those I'm close to, not that there's been much of it this morning, but constantly having that reaction from the public at large is going to grate on my nerves.”

“Give it a few weeks and I'm sure it will stop,” she said as they got to the doors of the building and went outside.

“I hope so.” He made his way to the curb and hailed them a cab. They got inside and this time he gave the address. Traffic was light at the moment, and they made it to Sherlock's old home in just over fifteen minutes. Molly got out first, followed by Sherlock. He stood on the curb, staring at the door for a moment. “It's strange to be home,” he said quietly.

“Soon enough you'll get to stay here again,” she said, moving towards the door. “You and I won't be living together forever.”

“I know,” he said. He joined her at the door and after a minute moved to open it. It was locked. “The door is usually never locked when she's home.”

“There were some problems,” Molly said, raising her hand to knock. She put her knuckles to the door. “People who were quite ghoulish wanted a piece of you. Your brother basically put the kibosh on that by taking your belongings out of the home, but I'm fairly sure a few things of yours are missing anyway.”

“Will I get to have my belongings at your home?”

“I don't see why not,” she said after a moment's thought. “If you're going to end up staying with me a while it would be better for you.”

Sherlock was going to say more when they heard the door unlock. After a moment it opened, and Mrs. Hudson gave Molly a smile before registering there were two people on her doorstep. She paled slightly when she looked at Sherlock. “But...” she said in a confused tone of voice.

“Hello, Mrs. Hudson,” he said quietly. She looked at him for a moment more, and then she fainted. Sherlock pushed the door open, concern on his face. Molly came in as well, her eyes wide. He squatted down next to Mrs. Hudson and checked her over. “If things haven't changed much there is a first aid kit in the kitchen, under the sink. John insisted. There are smelling salts in it.”

“I'll go get them,” she said with a nod, stepping over Mrs. Hudson and moving towards the stairs. She went up them quickly and made her way to the kitchen. She hadn't been there in quite some time and it looked dark and unused. She made her way to the kitchen, flipping on a nearby light, and then moved to the sink. She opened the cabinet underneath and saw what looked like a first aid kit. She pulled it out and after a brief pause took it all out to Sherlock.

Sherlock opened it and quickly pulled out the smelling salts. He opened up a packet and then waved it under Mrs. Hudson's nose. After a moment her eyes fluttered open and she sat up more. “You're really alive,” she said quietly when she looked at him.

He nodded slowly. “Yes, I am,” he replied.

She was quiet for a full minute before she reached over and hugged him. He was surprised, but after a few seconds he embraced her back. “I'm so glad,” she said.

“Thank you,” he replied. She let go a few minutes later and then he stood up, offering her his hand. She took it and stood up. “Do you feel sore at all?”

“No, just a bit out of sorts, but I'll be fine,” she said. Then she looked over at Molly. “How long have you known he was alive?”

“Since the day he fell off the roof,” she said. “I helped him fake his death.”

Mrs. Hudson's eyes widened. “I never would have guessed you knew for that long. It never appeared as though you were keeping secrets when we would talk.”

“I have quite a good poker face,” Molly said with a slight smile. “And it was important I keep it a secret. As much as I wanted all of you to know I couldn't say anything because it would have put Sherlock in danger.”

“Ah,” Mrs. Hudson said with a nod. “Well, I'm glad you're able to tell us now.”

“I am as well,” Molly said as her smile grew.

Mrs. Hudson looked at Sherlock and then embraced him again. “You don't know how happy I am that you're back. This place has been so lonely without you and John.”

“I won't get to come back for a time,” he said as he embraced her back again. “Right now I need to reside with Molly. But hopefully when this is over I can come back here.”

“Is something wrong?” she asked as she pulled away, giving the two of them a concerned look.

Molly nodded. “Someone threatened me,” she said. “Sherlock is staying with me to keep me safe.”

“I'm so sorry, dear,” she replied, moving over to embrace her this time. Molly embraced her back, and then Mrs. Hudson pulled away and looked at her. “Are you safe at home?”

“Safe enough,” Molly said, looking over at Sherlock, who nodded. Then she turned back to Mrs. Hudson. “I'll be fine. Sherlock will make sure of it.”

“You'd better,” Mrs. Hudson said to Sherlock as she pulled away from Molly completely. “I'll be quite cross at you if you don't. I care about Molly just as much as I care about you and John.”

“Thank you,” Molly said, giving the older woman a warm smile.

“I promise I will keep her safe,” he replied.

“Good,” Mrs. Hudson said with a nod. “Now then. I had already started to make the tea. Why don't we see if it's ready and then we can chat?”

“I think that sounds lovely, don't you, Sherlock?” Molly asked.

He nodded. “I would like to do that very much.”

“Then let's go check the tea and you can start telling me what you've been doing,” Mrs. Hudson said as she led the way to her part of the home. Sherlock followed first, with Molly right behind him. The reunions that day could have gone quite differently, and despite the scare with Mrs. Hudson it appeared as though it was going to go quite well, and she was pleased by that.


	4. Chapter 4

A few days after Sherlock had let their friends know he was actually alive two boxes arrived from Scotland Yard. Molly had just been coming downstairs to get coffee and food when she heard a knock at the door. She opened the door to see Lestrade standing there with the boxes in his arms. Sherlock was already awake because if there was one thing Sherlock rarely did it was sleep, apparently, and so Sherlock directed Lestrade to take the boxes into the sitting room. Sherlock then ignored both Lestrade and Molly as he began going through what was in each box. Molly's offer of a cup of coffee was politely refused, but there was an acceptance of dinner that evening so Sherlock could pick Lestrade's brain. After she had walked Lestrade to the door she went back to the sitting room and saw Sherlock had already started to spread things out on the floor. “Remember it all stays on the floor and tables,” she said as she made her way back into the kitchen.

“If you would let me put it on the wall I will put your art back up when I'm done,” he said.

“No, Sherlock,” she said, going to the coffeepot. “Ground rules, remember?”

“Yes, I remember,” he said, sounding a bit sullen about it. “At least I can do whatever I want to the bedroom where I'm staying. Or almost anything I want.”

“Well, if you have to stay here it's only fair you have a place that's your own,” she said, pulling the pot out and pouring herself a cup of coffee. Apparently she was taking the last of it, she realized. She went to her refrigerator and pulled out the flavored creamer she used. “Do you want more coffee?”

“No,” he replied. “I've already had an entire pot and a half. Or more like a pot and three quarters, if you're drinking the last of it now.”

“Sherlock, I have a twelve cup coffeemaker,” she said, her eyes wide as she turned to look at him sitting in the chair she usually sat in. “Are you planning on pulling another all-nighter?”

“I'm already well into twenty-eight hours without sleep,” he said. “I was hoping to have received all of this yesterday when my brain was still sharp, but since I have it now I want to study it even if I'm not in optimal peak condition.”

“You need sleep,” she said.

“Later,” he said, waving his hand before he reached into one of the boxes and pulled something else out. As she came closer it appeared as though it was a file. “You did the autopsy?” he said, looking up at her when she got close enough.

She nodded. “I wanted to be sure,” she said. “I mean, I wanted to make sure he was dead, that he wasn't going to get out of it.”

“Then I can be sure the autopsy report will be thorough,” he said with a nod. He set it aside but he didn't reach into the box for something else. He continued to look at her for a few moments before he spoke again. “Why did you go on the dates?”

“With Moriarty?” she asked.

“If it really was him,” he said with a nod.

“Because he asked, I suppose,” she said after a few moments. “I was quite flattered that someone had paid attention to me. I've spent a large portion of my life hoping men would pay attention and ending up being bitterly disappointed. He actually did pay attention to me, even if he had ulterior motives. And I wanted to make you jealous, which obviously didn't work. You barely noticed either of us were in the room.”

“You had hoped I would pay attention to you in that way,” he said, turning his gaze from her and going back to the box.

“Yes, I had,” she said. “But I got used to the idea that you wouldn't long before you fell off the roof. It's not in your nature to feel that way towards anyone, I suppose.”

“I did, once,” he said.

She was slightly surprised. “Really?”

“A very long time ago. Not much came of it, and that was about the time I decided emotions were messy and it was best if I tried not to focus on them.”

“Was your heart broken?” she asked before taking a sip of her coffee.

He stilled in his movements as he thought. “No, my heart wasn't broken, but it did cause me to reevaluate the state of my life and purposefully choose to be the man I was when we first met. I didn't want to go through the experience again so I stopped letting my emotions affect me most of the time.”

“And now?” she asked.

“Now I suppose it isn't so bad to feel emotions,” he replied. “But romantic entanglements are still something I seriously doubt I will ever have. There is too great a risk of being hurt to meddle in that area.”

“There is a risk, that's true, but there's also a great reward if you get the right person,” she said, moving to the other chair before it was covered in papers and evidence. “If you love someone and they love you then there's a sense of happiness you get.”

“Have you ever had that?” he asked, reaching into the box for more evidence.

“Not yet, but I've seen other people be happy like that.”

“People wear masks. You could think they're deliriously happy when in reality they're completely miserable,” he replied. “Unless it's actually happened to you then you can't know for sure whether that sense of happiness exists.”

“Well, it's not going to happen any time soon if I can't be out of your sight,” she said quietly. “No man is going to look at me twice if you're around, especially if it comes up you're living here. It would be too strange.”

“I'm sorry that this is an inconvenience, but I'm not going to let anything happen to you because you chose to help me,” he said as he looked at her again. “You are one of my few friends, and while I may not still be entirely sure how friends are supposed to act towards each other I know they protect them, and so I'll protect you now.”

She was quiet for a moment. He had actually apologized for something, and then he had said she was his friend. She wasn't quite sure if he even realized what he'd said. Finally she decided to ask. “Did you mean all that?”

“What, that you are my friend?” he asked, looking slightly confused.

She nodded. “And that you were sorry.”

“Yes, I did. Otherwise I wouldn't have said it,” he said before turning back to the box. “I'll lie if I have to, but I would prefer now not to have to do that to my friends. I've lied to most of them long enough about being dead. In most cases the truth will be better.”

“As long as you use tact,” she said.

“Tact is overrated,” he replied.

She hid a smile behind her coffee cup. “Then be prepared for us to give as much as we get,” she said before having more of her coffee.

Sherlock looked about to respond when his mobile rang. He shifted to get it out of his pocket. “It's Mycroft,” he said. He answered it after a moment. “What is it?” There was a long pause, and Sherlock kept glancing over at her. She began to get worried, and finally Sherlock said “I don't think she'll like that” before there was another pause. Now she was definitely worried. The call ended a moment later and he lowered his phone. “It's not safe to be here,” he said, looking over at her.

“Why on earth not?” she asked, her eyes wide.

“Apparently you have another gift on your doorstep, and there's the chance it might be something that will cause damage,” he replied, standing up. “Mycroft has already called an EOD Operator to assist and make sure it isn't, in fact, a bomb.”

Her eyes widened. “Oh, God.”

“He said the protective measures he had in place at my old home should work well. He would have insisted we go there when I revealed myself but he deferred to your desire to stay here. That is no longer an option.”

“So what are we supposed to do right now?” she asked.

“We need to go out to the back entrance and leave while the technicians do what they can do. We have about fifteen minutes to gather as much as we can and go somewhere safer.”

“Lovely,” she murmured. She stood up as well and moved to her stairs, pausing at the doorway of her sitting room. “What's going to happen to the rest of my things?”

“Mycroft will attempt to keep them safe. We can always come back later this afternoon to get more, but for the foreseeable future you'll need to stay at Baker Street.” He began to gather up the evidence and put it back in the box. “We should hurry.”

She nodded and made her way towards her room. She changed out of her dressing gown and pyjamas quickly, setting them on the bed to take with her. Then she pulled out her luggage. She had bought a three piece set years ago in case she ever fulfilled her dreams of traveling, and while she had never done that she could put it to good use now. She got dressed and then took as many of her clothes as she could grab and put them into the two largest suitcases. She managed to fit quite a few pieces in there. She used the smaller piece of luggage to take things that were important to her, such as photo albums and mementos she had collected over the years. The last thing she put in was the wood and glass jewelry box her mother had given her when she was a girl that held all her important jewelry. After a moment she put in some more clothing to cushion it. Finally she got one of the handbags she didn't use and went to the washroom, getting the most important things she needed from there, just as Sherlock came out of his room. “I have a lot,” she said.

“I'll help get it out,” he said, shifting his hold on the bag he held. “I can get it to the curb farther away from your home and hail a cab, and then come back in and get the evidence. Then we can be off.”

She nodded and then led the way to her bedroom. The two largest pieces of luggage were on wheels, and Sherlock lifted the largest one off the bed and then put it on the ground before pulling out the handle. She did the same with the other one and then got the carry-on piece of luggage in her other hand after putting her handbag on her shoulder. They made their way down the stairs and towards the back of her home, pausing only long enough for her to grab her coat and the handbag she used on a regular basis. Then they left and made their way out into the alley and towards the curb. Sherlock hailed a cab for them and then she looked at him. “Is it safe for me to be out here by myself?” she asked, her tone worried.

“We'll have to risk it,” he said as the driver opened up the car boot. “I'll be back as quickly as I can.” And with that he turned to walk back to her home. She hesitated a moment before beginning to put their things into the car boot, trying to leave space for the boxes. Sherlock came out with them and deposited one of them in the car boot, since her luggage and his bag took up most of the room. He carried the other box to the back of the cab and set it between him and Molly before giving the driver his home address. Once the car pulled away he looked at Molly. “I'm truly sorry about this.”

“Why would Mycroft think it was a bomb?” she asked.

“Because of the way the person leaving it acted once he set it down, and the fact there appears to be a device on the front. Unfortunately for whoever left it Mycroft pays more attention to your home now than he had before. He saw this as a major threat and is treating it as such.” He sank back into the seat more. “If it isn't a bomb and they can avoid blowing it up Mycroft is going to allow me to examine the contents. I want to learn more about these gifts being sent to you and try and figure out who is sending them.”

“Will he be able to keep my home safe?” she asked.

“He can try very hard, but if we're allowed back later this afternoon it might be best to take as much as you can,” he said. “Just in case.”

She was quiet after that. The “just in case” worried her, more than she thought Sherlock understood. It was more than just things that she would lose. She'd had that home for quite a long time, long enough that it was the place she preferred being when she was having a rough day instead of going somewhere else. She hadn't had a place like that since she left her village to go to university, at least until she moved to the building on Tufnell Park Road. It had cost quite a bit but it was a lovely place to live. That was home, and it was going to be hard to leave her home behind. “So I suppose I'll be with you for a while,” she said.

“Well, just as you tried to make me comfortable I will do the same for you,” he said. “I don't know the state of the furniture or anything other than what you might have seen in the sitting room when you went to get the first aid kit.”

“That was still furnished, though it was dark and dusty,” she said. “I didn't give it much more than a glance.”

“We'll find out shortly, I suppose,” he said.

“Are we going to be able to go back to my home eventually?” she asked.

“I don't know,” he replied. “There are safeguards put into my own home that aren't at yours. I am fairly sure Mycroft had surveillance installed inside my home as well as outside of it. And I believe the new owner of the deli as well as my other immediate neighbors are with MI-5 or MI-6. They were put in place because Mycroft used his pull to convince the rest of the government that Moriarty posed a threat to those who had been close to me and it was a matter of national security. He was most successful in having Mrs. Hudson protected.”

Her eyes widened. “That's quite a bit to keep one person safe.”

“Well, Mycroft wasn't completely able to do it for John's new home, though the person in the apartment next door works for the government in a more than bureaucratic fashion. You, however, have regular neighbours. Mycroft wasn't able to convince anyone to vacate their properties, and if he did it by force there was the chance they would tell you and you would be privy to something he didn't want you to know. I also believe he did not install surveillance inside your home.” He paused. “Though I can't entirely be sure.”

“That's a lovely thought,” she murmured before turning to look out the window. It was a short trip to Sherlock's home, just around twenty minutes with traffic. He made no more attempts to speak to her, but when they got to the building she spoke. “It appears we have a welcoming committee.”

He nodded as the cab pulled up. Mycroft came over and paid the driver as Sherlock and Molly got out, Sherlock carrying the box. The three of them worked in silence to get everything out of the cab, and then Mycroft went to the door of 221B Baker Street and opened it. “I apologize for the inconvenience,” he said as they stepped inside.

That was not what she wanted to hear right now. “As you should. The whole affair is an inconvenience,” she said, sounding irritated. “I've already had to give up my post and now my home. Am I going to have to give up anything more before this is all over?”

“We will try hard to make sure that is not the case,” Mycroft said.

“Try _very_ hard,” she said, crossing her arms and glaring slightly.

He gave her a nod before turning to Sherlock. “Your furniture is still here. I did not have it removed and Mrs. Hudson didn't either. However, as the other bedroom is unfurnished I will rectify that as soon as possible.”

“Pick furniture you think Molly would like,” Sherlock said. Mycroft raised an eyebrow. “My room was the largest. It's only fair that because Molly is being inconvenienced she has that room for the time being. I'll take John's old room.”

“You don't have to,” Molly said, her eyes going wide as she uncrossed her arms. “I can manage being in a smaller room.”

“I'm insisting,” Sherlock said. “And you'll find I can be quite stubborn.”

“That is an understatement,” Mycroft said. “As it stands, I was planning on replicating Molly's bedroom set to the best of my knowledge. If you are wanting to give up your room for the time being I can simply have the furniture moved upstairs before hers is delivered.”

“How do you know what my bedroom set looks like?” Molly asked, narrowing her eyes at Mycroft.

“I have extremely good surveillance on your home, and there is a very clear view into your bedroom,” he replied. “If you would like, I could have something similar or something better.”

She was quiet for a few minutes. She was quite unnerved that he could peek in whenever he wanted, and if she wanted to admit it a bit angry as well. But if this was an attempt to mollify her it was a good start. “Define better,” she said finally.

“Solid cherry, memory foam mattress, a larger bed...things like that,” Mycroft said. “Think of it as a salve for this inconvenience.”

“I'll take better furniture, I suppose,” she said after a moment. “Though if I like it I want to take it back home with me when I leave.”

“That can be arranged,” Mycroft said with an inclination of his head. “Do not leave for the time being. Food will be delivered by Anthea in approximately a half hour, at least enough to get you through two days’ worth of meals.”

“Is Mrs. Hudson here?” Sherlock asked.

Mycroft shook his head. “She'll still be residing here, but at the moment she is out of the home to spend time with friends. I spoke with her before she left, though, so she knows you will be taking up residence here again and Molly will be joining you.”

“Won't us being here put her at risk, though?” Molly asked.

“I'm assuming Sherlock has told you about the safeguards I put in place since he fell off the hospital roof?” Mycroft asked. She nodded. “I think those safeguards will be more than enough to keep you safe. And if they for some reason fail Sherlock is more than capable of protecting both you and Mrs. Hudson.” He paused. “Though...”

“You think some added measure of protection inside the home will be even more effective,” Sherlock said. “He might say no.”

“Not if I tell him the threat against Molly is growing,” Mycroft said. “And not if I tell him it would be in his own best interest if this new game you're in goes farther afield. He could potentially be a target as well.”

“Who are you talking about?” Molly asked. “John?”

Mycroft nodded. “Having both Sherlock and John here should guarantee your safety. I, at least, would feel more comforted.”

“Then I'll take the smallest bedroom if he will agree and he can have his old room back,” Sherlock said.

“I will call him now, then,” Mycroft said, pulling his mobile out. “If you'll excuse me.”

Molly watched him move to the side before turning back to Sherlock. “You really don't have to give up your old room,” she said. “I mean, this is going to be a temporary thing. I can stay in the smallest bedroom.”

“No, it's all right,” he replied. “I can always move back in when this is over. But you shouldn't have to give up anything else, including personal space, especially if John agrees to return. With the three of us sharing this space and Mrs. Hudson in her part of the home it will mean we'll be more on top of each other.”

“Sherlock--” she began, but he shook his head. Finally she sighed. “Fine. I'll stay in your bedroom. But as soon as this is all over promise me you'll move back in, all right?”

“I promise,” he said. The two of them lapsed into silence and watched Mycroft finish his conversation with John. Finally Mycroft came back over. “Well?” Sherlock asked.

“He has agreed to return here. I explained the situation and how it has changed, and he has agreed that returning here is the best course of action. I will be arranging for his things to be moved in today.”

“Isn't he at work today?” Molly asked.

Mycroft shook his head. “He has today and tomorrow off. This will give him time to get situated here.”

“Good,” Sherlock said. “He needs to be here.”

“Dear brother, this will most likely be a temporary arrangement on his part,” Mycroft said. “As you well know, things can't go back to how they used to be. Everyone, including yourself, has changed too much for that.”

“I realize that,” Sherlock said, and Molly could see he was resisting the urge to roll his eyes. “But for the time being having him here means I don't have to expend all my time and energy on simply keeping Molly safe. I can get to the bottom of this.”

“Ah,” Mycroft said with a nod. “As it stands, I will stay here until Anthea arrives. There are people here checking that the surveillance equipment I had installed is still operational.”

“It's not in the bedrooms, is it?” Molly asked.

Mycroft was quiet for a moment. “I'll have them readjust the position of the equipment in Sherlock's bedroom.”

“You'll monitor the window and the door and that's it until Molly goes home,” Sherlock said. “She deserves some privacy.”

“I can have it removed completely, if you so wish,” Mycroft said to Molly.

She shook her head. “Re-positioning it to monitor the window and door is fine,” she replied. “As long as you can't monitor me when I'm getting dressed. I'd feel a bit strange about that.”

“I'll tell them to re-position it, then,” he said. “If you'll both excuse me again.” With that he left them again, and Molly watched for a moment.

“John had guessed about the surveillance,” Sherlock said. “I don't think he was happy about it, but I know Mycroft never would have suggested removing it completely for him. He must like you more than John.”

“Please tell me you're not suggesting...” she said, her eyes wide as she looked at Sherlock.

“No. He's married to his work,” Sherlock said with a faint smile. “But I think of everyone I've become friendly with over the last few years, you are someone he doesn't want to see hurt in any way, including being made to feel uncomfortable. He has a soft spot for you, so to speak. Perhaps Mrs. Hudson as well, but I'm not sure about that.”

“Oh,” she said, relaxing. The idea of Mycroft being attracted to her had felt very strange, just as Sherlock suggesting Greg had been, or ever hearing that John had been. At this point, even Sherlock admitting he fancied her would have felt off, because the types of relationships she had with all four of them had evolved into something that would make her extremely uncomfortable if they turned romantic. With Sherlock it might be more palatable, but she knew it would never happen and she was fine with that. As long as she didn't lose Greg, John or Sherlock's friendship she could be content with things.

“Have you ever been in my bedroom?” he asked, pulling her out of her thoughts.

She shook her head. “No. I never had a reason to go in there when I came to visit Mrs. Hudson.”

“Let me show you where you'll be staying, then.” He made his way up the stairs and she followed him. He made his way to a door and she could see him hesitate for a moment before he opened the door. He stepped inside and she joined him after a moment. The entire room looked dusty, but once she got past that she saw it suited him very much.

“Will all of this fit in the other bedroom?” she asked, moving over to his dresser.

He nodded. “It's about two thirds the size of this room, so it should fit well enough. John's room is just marginally bigger.”

“You really don't have to give this room up,” she said, turning to face him. “This is your home. I'm the interloper.”

“Molly, stop trying to talk me out of doing this,” he said with a sigh. “When you and John leave I'll come back here. I promise. But for now this will be your room, and no amount of trying to persuade me otherwise is going to work.”

“All right,” she said quietly. She moved over to the bed. “I definitely think you need to wash your bedding. This is the dustiest set of linen I've ever seen.”

“I suppose Mycroft not having my furniture removed made it too hard for Mrs. Hudson to come in and do upkeep,” he said, moving to his nightstand. “The three of us knew I was alive, but she did not, and it was probably too painful of a reminder.”

“I wonder what would have happened if she had insisted,” she said thoughtfully.

“Then I would need a new bedroom set myself, because I doubt Mycroft would have kept it at his fortress,” he said, running a finger along the nightstand and then looking at how much dust was on it. “But I am happy this one is still here.”

“Fortress?” Molly asked with a smile.

“The correct term would be home if he didn't treat it like a well-fortified castle minus the moat. As it stands, it gets harder and harder to break in every time I try,” he said in a slightly amused tone.

“And why would you do that?” she asked.

He shrugged slightly. “To keep from getting rusty. I do have to say, though, I'm successful every time I do it.”

“He must hate that,” she said with a chuckle.

“Yes, he certainly does.” He wiped the dust off his finger. “I suppose we should clean all of this before it's moved. No one is going to want to touch filthy furniture.”

“So I get to help?” she asked, arching an eyebrow.

“I suppose you don't have to,” he said.

“I'm teasing, Sherlock. I'd be glad to help. I think the first thing we need to do is find polish and rags.”

“No duster?” he asked.

“With this level of dust it's just going to put a thick layer of dust on the floor, and since I like to be in my room in my bare feet I don't want dirty feet. Which also means we need to get a vacuum as well.”

He nodded and turned to the door. “I'll see what...” He trailed off and saw Mycroft was standing in the doorway. “Yes?” Sherlock asked.

“It wasn't a bomb,” he said quietly. “But it was quite disturbing.”

“Do I really want to know what was in that box?” Molly asked.

“You probably don't, but it's in your best interest if you do,” Mycroft said. “There was a disemboweled rat with a note, this time for Sherlock. Once again there were roses in the box, and the flowers were separated from the stems. This time they were white, and stained with the rat's blood.”

Molly felt quite ill as he spoke. She sat down on the bed, heedless of the dust, and then looked at Mycroft. “That's horrible.”

“What did the note say?” Sherlock asked.

“'Lab rats are expendable. You had best try to do a good job of protecting yours.'”

Molly folded her hands in her lap, looking down at them. “It's going to get worse, isn't it?” she asked Mycroft.

He nodded slowly. “Yes, I believe so.”

“I will keep you safe, Molly,” Sherlock said. She looked up at him and saw he looked quite determined before he turned back to Mycroft. “I need to examine it, but Molly shouldn't have to watch and I do not want her left alone.”

“I will make sure she's safe,” he replied. “I've already asked John to come quickly. As soon as he's here you can go to St. Bart's and examine the box.”

Molly's eyes went wide as she remembered something. “Oh, hell,” she said.

“What is it?” Mycroft asked.

“I have testimony to give in...” She looked at the watch on her wrist. “Three hours. It's the last case I'll have for some time, and I left the clothing I planned to wear in my closet.”

“Do you have anything suitable?” Sherlock asked. Molly shook her head. Then he turned to Mycroft. “Can we go back to her home?”

“Not before she needs to give testimony. I will have Anthea get you something to wear and bring it once she's delivered the food. I think you'll find her taste to be more refined than mine.”

“And distinctly more feminine,” Sherlock said.

“Seeing as I am not female that is to be expected,” Mycroft said, and he did not resist the urge to roll his eyes. “But I could do a fairly decent job if I had to.”

“Let's hope you don't have to,” Sherlock said. Then he turned to Molly. “Would you prefer if I accompany you to give testimony or would it be all right if it was John?”

“I feel safe with John too,” she said. “I'd much rather have you go through the box while I'm not anywhere near it.” She stood up and then reached behind her to wipe the dust off her arse. “I need to take a shower before I go. I managed to get most of the things in my washroom I would use. I just didn't grab any towels.”

“I know where Mrs. Hudson keeps her linens. Her towels should be there as well,” Sherlock said.

“There's no surveillance in the washroom, is there?” Molly asked Mycroft warily.

“I can have it removed,” he said.

“Did you have every room in this home covered?” Sherlock asked his brother, tilting his head slightly.

“Yes,” he said. “Except the basement bedroom, which is how those shoes were able to be slipped into the home. The window into the room had been tampered with. I rectified that oversight shortly afterward.” Then he turned back to Molly. “I will have them go make the necessary adjustments now. Give them a half hour to disable the surveillance.”

“All right,” she said with a nod. Mycroft turned and left the room, and she turned back to Sherlock. “I don't like the new direction this game took.”

“I don't either, to be frank,” he said. “Someone is trying very hard to make you unsettled in furtherance of their agenda.”

“They didn't need to kill an animal to do that. I was already spooked.” Then her eyes widened. “Toby is still at home.”

“He seems to like me well enough. I'll go collect him as soon as I am done at St. Bart's.” Then he paused for a moment. “Actually, I think to be on the safe side I'll collect him as soon as I'm allowed to go back to your home. Just--”

“If you say 'just in case' again I will get very angry,” she said, holding up a hand to stop him. “I don't want to think about worst case scenarios any more than I already am thinking about them. Just go get Toby and his food and the toys I have for him. The carrier is in the cupboard.”

He nodded in response. “As you wish. I think it might be best if he stays here in the room with you, mostly because this is a new environment. That way there is less chance he'll run away because he's scared.”

“That would probably be best,” she said. “And he's used to sleeping with me at night, so knowing I sleep here will probably give him comfort.”

“Then as soon as Mycroft tells me I'm allowed to go back to your home I will go fetch him.” He nodded towards the door. “We should probably do something about the state of this room before you have to get ready to give testimony.”

“All right,” she said. “Let's go see what we can find to get your furniture back to rights.” He stepped through the door first and she followed. She felt safer here, and she was glad for that, but it was definitely going to take some getting used to. Hopefully by the time she was able to return home she wouldn't hate the very sight of anyone who was going to be residing in Baker Street with her.


	5. Chapter 5

Even with John doing his level best to distract her as they waited for the trial to start, and afterward until Sherlock joined them back at Baker Street, she still felt sad. Mrs. Hudson had come home by that point and she said Molly could absolutely move in as many of her things as she wanted to, that it was all right to make Baker Street her home for the time being. She appreciated it, and when Sherlock came back they made their way to her home and she got as many of her things as she was able to. It took them three trips to get as much as she thought she could fit in the space she was given, but Sherlock said he had no problem if she took more for the sitting room, and he promised if she did he wouldn't do anything to it. They made two more trips back for the things she had wanted but thought that she would have to leave behind, and for a moment she stood in her sitting room, looking at the empty shelves and bare walls, and the sadness threatened to overwhelm her. It wasn't going to be the same, even with her things, because there was a chance that things could go horribly wrong and she would never see her home again.

They had gone back to Baker Street and she had been told her furniture was delivered. She was curious to see what Mycroft thought was better furniture in his opinion, and she made her way to the door of the bedroom she would be using and opened it with a sense of trepidation. When she stepped inside, though, she was highly pleased. The bed was actually a size bigger than hers had been, and there was a gorgeous headboard with shelving and lights built into it so she could read at night. There was a nightstand on either side of the bed and a chest with ornate carvings at the foot of her bed. She now had a beautiful dresser with more drawers than the one at her own home, and there were two bookshelves on either side of it. There was even a vanity with a mirror and a chair whose carvings matched the chest. She moved into the room and sat on the edge of her mattress, just to see what it was like. She grinned when she realized that this mattress felt _much_ better than her mattress at home. When she got to go home again this was all going to go back with her.

She had left all of her things in the sitting room, but before she could go out to get them Sherlock appeared at her door. He took in the room, wearing an approving look. “Definitely an improvement to the furniture you have at your home,” he said.

“Yes, it is,” she said with a smile. “It's all going to go home with me when I get to leave.”

“That is a very good idea,” he replied. He stepped into the room more. “John has gone back home to get more of his things. Mycroft apparently ordered new furniture for him as well as opposed to moving his things over. He's gone to get the belongings he wants most.”

Her smile faltered. “I brought too many of my things for the sitting room. There's going to be no space for anything of his.”

“Molly, it's fine. We both insisted you bring those things. And the items in the sitting room were mostly mine before. I don't need all of it out there when my items are returned to me.” He moved over to the bed and paused for a moment, then sat next to her. “John is only planning on staying until the threat is taken care of and you'll be gone too, so all the space will be mine again after that. I can wait until all of this is over to put my stamp back on this home.”

“I just wish I didn't have to be here,” she said quietly.

“I wish you didn't have to be either,” he replied. “But this is the safest place for you to be.”

“I know,” she said with a sigh. She got up and looked over at him. “I suppose I should start bringing my things in here, get it set up the way I want it to be. I don't have any linens for the bed, though, and my quilt is too small.”

“We can see about buying you something,” he said as he stood up. “Would you like help bringing things in?”

“Yes,” she said with a nod. “It will make things easier.”

The two of them left her bedroom and began bringing in the rest of her clothing and the boxes they had packed with her things. The boxes had been John's idea, and she had to say it had been more practical than using bags or bringing her luggage and filling it up and emptying it each trip. She'd taken a marker and marked what was for her bedroom and what was going to stay in the sitting room. They brought the bedroom items into her room and Sherlock helped her put things away, which she appreciated. When they were done he looked around the room. “Now you just need to hang your art and this room will truly be yours.”

“Until it's yours again, of course,” she said.

“Of course,” he said. “We should work on getting your things situated in the sitting room next.”

“I was going to take some time to make something to eat,” she said. “I was too nervous to eat this morning and I'm famished now.”

“I can cook while you put the things away, if you would like,” he said.

Her eyes widened. “You can cook?” she asked.

“Yes, I can. I know John did most of the cooking when he was here, but I had to survive before him. I'm not a gourmet chef, but there are dishes I make quite well. I don't know if we have ingredients for any of those dishes, but I can attempt to make something.”

“I was just going to have a salad, maybe with some chicken on it. It appeared as though there was some chicken in the food Anthea brought,” she said.

“Then I can assemble the salad for you,” he said. “What do you want on it?”

“Tomatoes, cucumbers and the chicken,” she replied. “And I'll have the Caesar dressing.”

“I'll let you add that yourself,” he said. The two of them made their way out to the sitting room and Sherlock went into the kitchen to cook the chicken for her while Molly opened up boxes and began looking at her things. She had emptied out one box when they heard the front door open. Molly tensed until she saw it was John carrying a box. “Let me go help you,” Sherlock said, leaving the kitchen.

“I'd appreciate it,” John said with a nod. “I filled up the car boot and the entire back seat of the cab. The driver let me sit in the front, thankfully, so I got all my things in one trip.”

“Do you have a lot for the sitting room?” she asked.

He shook his head. “I have plenty of space in my room. I think the bedroom set Mycroft got me was a subtle hint that he thought the set I currently have doesn't really suit my needs. Which is true, I suppose, because I didn't have nearly enough space to store things.” He set his box down near her. “Most of what I brought is clothing anyway. I don't have a lot of things I desperately need to have with me.”

“Ah,” she said with a nod. “Should I come help?”

“You take care of your things,” he said, shaking his head. “Sherlock and I can handle this.”

“All right.” He turned and left, and she watched them bring box after box and bags filled with clothing while she worked on figuring out where she wanted to put her things. The shelves had been mostly empty, save for the items Mycroft had given Sherlock when he was at her home that he had brought with him on one of the trips. She hoped he didn't mind that she had put them away for him. Soon enough John and Sherlock had all of John's things in, and they had brought almost all of it into his bedroom. When they were done doing that they came down to join her. “I hope you don't mind that I put your things away, Sherlock,” she said when he got closer.

“It's fine. The rest of my things were delivered and are in my bedroom apparently, so I'll put the things I want in the sitting room in whatever space you leave me.” He looked over at John. “Did you have items you wanted out here?”

“A few, but it's only maybe three shelves worth,” he said. “I can work around the both of your things.”

“I don't have much more to put away,” she said, opening up the last box. She examined its contents. “A lot of this can go into my bedroom. It's mostly books.”

“I've always wondered what you like to read,” John said, coming closer. She picked a book out and handed it to him. “This is a very fancy book.”

“My mother gave me a collection of beautiful hardcover books when I graduated medical school, for me to read and have on display,” she said. “It's mostly Jane Austen books, but there are also books from the Bronte sisters and Charles Dickens as well as a few single books from other authors I loved growing up. I think this box has all of them. I haven't put much on the shelving built into my headboard so I can put them there.”

Sherlock came over and picked up a book. Then he smiled. “You liked Treasure Island?” he asked.

“Oh yes. I've always quite enjoyed pirate stories,” she said. “My father used to pretend to be William Kidd and I would be Anne Dieu-Le-Veut.”

Sherlock's eyes widened slightly. “Most people don't know about her,” he said.

“I think I put it in this box, but I have a book of pirate lore that my father owned,” she said, pulling out books. She set them in piles until she got to an older book. She held it up to Sherlock and he set the other book down on a pile as he looked at it. “His father gave it to him, and he gave it to me. If I'm ever lucky enough to have children I'll give it to them, sort of as a family tradition.”

“May I borrow this?” Sherlock asked.

She nodded. “I don't mind. I mean, I didn't know you liked pirates, but if you do that's a very good book.”

“Thank you,” he said, moving towards the other chair. “Your chicken should be done in fifteen minutes, by the way.”

“I should probably make the actual salad now, then,” she said. She got up off of the floor and dusted off her trousers, and then she went into the kitchen. There was a plate there with the salad ingredients next to it, and she made herself a rather large salad. Everyone lapsed into a companionable silence as John put away his things in the sitting room. When her chicken was done she pulled it out of the oven and carefully cut it into chunks before putting it on the salad. She put the dressing on it when she was done and then brought it and a fork over to the table and sat down, pausing before she ate to look over at the two men. “Are you going to eat?”

“Later,” Sherlock said from where he was sitting, flipping through the book she was loaning him.

“He may not want to eat, but I will,” John said. “But no salad for me. I'll figure out something else for supper.”

“I'm surprised you didn't want something more substantial,” Sherlock said without looking up from the book.

“I might want something else later, but this is fine for now. Or at least I hope it is.” She took a bite. “I didn't have much of an appetite after Mycroft told me what was in the box.”

“While I'm cooking I want to hear about this second gift and what you learned from it,” John said. “Without graphic detail, hopefully.”

“I won't go into detail,” Sherlock said, setting the book aside. “Or rather, I won't go into detail about the state of certain parts of the gift. But I can go into detail about the rest.”

“All right,” Molly said, spearing more of her food on the fork.

“This box, just like the other one, was wiped clean of fingerprints,” Sherlock said. “The note also did not have fingerprints. It was of the same card stock as the other note, and the penmanship was identical. The inks were different, though; the first note had been written with a cheap ballpoint pen, but today's note was written with a fountain pen. The flowers were cut differently this time as well, more at an angle, and they were wilted, as though they had been bought much earlier than the gift had been assembled. It appeared that the gift today had taken more time to be set up. This is making me think the first gift was a rushed warning while today's gift was more deliberately put together. Whoever sent them has had time to plan for this one.”

“So it had to be someone who knew you had been called back to London by your brother,” John said as he began to rummage around in the kitchen.

“That is my thought, yes,” Sherlock said. “I was very careful not to expose my identity while I was taking care of the threat the organization posed, and the fact that the gift was not delivered before I returned to London tells me that they did not know until I arrived in the city. Though that brings up a new mystery: how did they know I had returned when the only people who knew were Mycroft and Anthea?”

“Do you think she might have said something to someone?” John asked.

Sherlock shook her head. “Aside from the time she summoned you for Irene she has been absolutely loyal to my brother. I do not think she would betray his trust no matter what she was offered.”

“She also seemed genuinely saddened that something like this had happened to me,” Molly said. “I don't think it was an act, and if she had told someone she should have expected it.” She had some more of her food. “Do you think that possibly someone else figured it out? Or that your identity might have been revealed without you being aware it had?”

“Both are valid possibilities,” Sherlock conceded. “I think the second reason might be more plausible. While I was taking pains to hide my identity my brother may not have, and anyone seeing him leaving England and coming back with someone who met my general description could have come to the logical conclusion that I was still alive.”

“So now the question becomes why he would decide to go after Molly,” John said.

“I know Molly was not one of the people the man on the roof set an assassin on,” Sherlock said. “There was one here, one in the building across from Lestrade's office and one following you. She would have escaped death regardless of whether I fell or not. But since it was obvious she interfered the person behind the gifts might be angry. The note to her was less threatening than the note today, which was directed to me. In fact, I think the gift today wasn't intended for her at all. It was for my benefit so that I would know the person behind all this was serious about coming after her.”

“That's a comforting thought,” Molly said glumly.

“All it did was make me double my resolve to find the person who initiated this new game and deal with him in a way to keep him from harming you,” Sherlock said. “I have promised I will not let any harm come to you and I intend to keep that promise.”

“There doesn't seem to be any leads at all,” she said.

“There was one. There was a stain on the box that wasn't blood,” Sherlock said. “It was something I couldn't identify. I contacted Lestrade to see if he could have the technicians at Scotland Yard run tests on it.”

“Willingly handing something over to them instead of running it yourself?” John asked, slightly surprised. “You've changed.”

“It's more that I don't have access to the database needed to compare the results,” Sherlock said with a shrug. “Supposedly Lestrade trusts the woman in charge so I'm trusting his judgment. She agreed to do it once Mycroft convinced his superiors it was in their best interest to do the tests, at any rate, even though it isn't for an official case.”

“Are you still going to examine the things from Moriarty's death?” John asked.

“Tomorrow. I've decided it would be best if I go over the evidence after I've gotten some rest. I'll think more clearly that way. In the meantime I'll go over what I've learned from the two gifts, see if there are any connections I haven't thought of yet.”

“It sounds as though you have a solid plan,” John said.

“I always go into a situation with one,” Sherlock replied with a shrug.

“Oh, I can think of a few times you didn't,” he said with a grin as he finished gathering the supplies for his supper.

“I doubt it,” Sherlock scoffed.

“Baskerville, for one. When we went into the moors the second time. You weren't thinking clearly, though frankly that held true for all of us. I think it was only through sheer luck Henry didn't kill you before you talked him down.” John thought for a moment. “And I don't think you had much of a plan when you were rescuing Sarah and I from the Chinese assassins. Plus there was the confrontation with the cabbie killer.”

“No, that one I had a plan for,” Sherlock said. “I just didn't expect for him to have a gun that actually worked. That was something I had failed to account for. But I did have a plan when I got into his cab.”

“How did none of those things end up in the blog posts?” Molly asked, her eyes wide.

“Because _someone_ would critique as I typed them up,” John said. “If he complained loudly enough for any real length of time I'd omit it just to get him to be quiet.”

“I did not censor your blog posts,” Sherlock said with a scowl.

“Oh, you most certainly did,” John said. “If I published everything that had happened in the time we worked together there would be enough for an entirely new blog that would garner you a completely different audience.”

“I want to hear those stories,” Molly said with an amused smile.

“No, you don't,” Sherlock said.

“I can start telling you some of them over supper,” John said with a grin as Sherlock stood up, glaring at him. “You're more than welcome to stay and reinforce the official version of events, Sherlock.”

“I'm going to my bedroom to avoid what I'm sure will be a long discussion filled with character defamation,” he said gruffly. “I have work to do anyway.”

“Sherlock, if it's going to make you cross I don't need to know,” Molly said, her smile turning into a frown. “Honest.”

“He's going to do it anyway eventually,” Sherlock said as he turned and began to leave the sitting room. “He might as well get it over with now.”

“Sherlock...” Molly began, standing up, but he'd left the room at that point. She sat back down. “I didn't mean to make him upset.”

“He's still touchy, I see,” John said thoughtfully. “I guess some things don't change.”

“We all have to live here. We shouldn't antagonize each other,” she said with a sigh. She picked up her fork again and stabbed her salad a bit more forcefully than she had planned. “I should try and talk to him when I'm done eating.”

“Leave him be. He just needs to sulk for a bit,” John said as he began making his supper. “Most of the stories aren't bad. They're just mistakes he made. I think part of the problem with the way the entries ended up is that Sherlock came off as infallible. I think if I had written about the mistakes and false theories and things of that nature people might have been less inclined to view him as a fraud. They wouldn't have thought he was perfect and they wouldn't have been looking to tear him down from the pedestal they'd put him on. That I'd helped put him on.”

“Do you feel guilty about that?” she asked.

“I do,” he said with a nod. “More often than I don't. I think even though Scotland Yard cleared him of any wrongdoing there are still going to be people who believe the lies, and I think that's partially my fault. I have to live with that.”

“But it's mostly Moriarty's fault,” she said. “He set up the elaborate scheme and then watched it unfold. Just because he was a bastard doesn't mean you should feel guilty.”

“I appreciate the sentiment, but I don't think the guilt is ever going to completely go away,” he said. He went about making his supper before he paused. “He's really convinced the person who died on the roof wasn't Moriarty, isn't he?”

She nodded. “I presented a counterargument, but I think he prefers his own theory.”

“My opinion is that he's wrong. Based on things that happened when he put a bomb on me I'm completely convinced that not only was that Moriarty but also that he was obsessed enough to kill himself to spur Sherlock on in his game. I think he was a complete nutter, to be honest.”

“When did he put a bomb on you?” she asked, her eyes wide.

“When he was doing it to everyone else. He almost had Sherlock and I killed that night but he changed his mind.” He looked over at her. “I've been in a war zone before. I've stared down people who were obsessed to the point they would kill to uphold their beliefs. But they didn't scare me. Moriarty terrified me, though, and I think that was because that night I realized he'd go to any lengths to make Sherlock dance to his tune. Killing himself doesn't seem like too much of a reach.”

She turned away and looked at her food before taking a bite. “I did his autopsy. I had to be sure that he wasn't going to...I had to be sure he was dead.”

“I couldn't have done that,” he said.

“Well, I'll admit that once I was done with the autopsy I didn't hold back the desire to yell a bit. I would have done it while I was doing the actual autopsy but I had to record my notes. It made me feel a bit better. And there was also the fact that Sherlock was hiding out at my home. I was angrier at Moriarty than I was saddened by what had to happen because I knew his plan hadn't worked, that Sherlock was still alive.”

“I'm sure you weren't planning on having to share a residence with him again,” he replied.

She shook her head. “No, I hadn't. But up until a few moments ago I think he had shown me he was a different person. He's changed in a lot of ways. I suppose he's still a bit touchy about his failings, though.”

“What was it like, when he was there after he fell?” John asked curiously.

“He was very quiet for the most part at first. I think he was in incredible pain and he was trying not to focus on it so he slept a lot. He refused pain medication that was stronger than paracetamol, which he told me later was because of the drug addiction he'd had. Once he stopped being in as much pain he would talk. He seemed quite sad but also very determined.” She paused. “He went to his grave one day when his brother told him you were visiting, after he had healed more. He stood there and watched you salute his grave.”

“I remember that day,” he said with a nod. “I didn't realize he was there.”

“Well, that was the point,” she said with a small smile. “When he came back his resolve had doubled. He was determined to do his best to keep you safe. He left a few days after that. I remember the day he asked me to help him change his appearance I knew he was going to leave soon.”

“Did he contact you while he was gone?”

She nodded. “Letters and notes, mostly. He disguised his handwriting and used a false name when he sent them. I think he thought if he left the return address blank it would be suspicious. But I knew they were his. I got phone calls very rarely as well.”

“I bet you helped him remember why he was doing this,” he said.

“I wasn't able to write back, so I don't know,” she replied. “But I kept everything. It's all in my bedroom at my home, in a small box I bought for that purpose. If he says it's all right I'll show them to you, if you want. A lot of it was thoughts about the life and people he'd had to leave behind.”

“I'd like to see them, if he says I can,” he replied. “Even as well as I know him there's a lot that goes on in his mind I never understood. Maybe those letters will help me understand him better.”

“We can ask when he's in a better mood,” she said as she went back to her salad.

“He won't be in this mood for long. Once he starts really pondering the two gifts that were delivered to your home he'll forget about what happened.”

“I hope so,” she said.

“We can talk about other things while I'm cooking and you're eating,” he replied. “I mean, there's a lot we need to catch up on, too. We drifted apart over the years, and I think we should rectify that.”

“I think we should too,” she said, giving him a grin. He grinned back and she relaxed slightly. Even though Sherlock was upset she had the hope that everything would work out well enough in the end, and the chance to reconnect with an old friend pleased her very much. Even though she didn't really want to be there, she had the feeling that it wasn't going to end up the worst possible thing in the world.


	6. Chapter 6

A week and a half after Molly had moved in Lestrade called Sherlock in to consult on a case. Molly was glad for that because Sherlock had been getting restless. He'd run his brain around in circles with the two packages left on her doorstep, and he had gone over all the evidence from Moriarty's suicide twice and apparently still believed the man wasn't Moriarty. It was a bit exhausting to hear him go over everything multiple times as he tried to suss out any meanings he might have missed, so she was glad for something that would be a good distraction.

They made their way to the crime scene, at the base of the London Eye. She could see Jarrod standing outside the crime scene on the side of the tape they were on. He wasn't hard to miss; he had blonde hair that was almost white and striking green eyes, but what was most striking was he had a confidence about him that you could see before he ever spoke a word to you, and he managed to make you feel at ease once you did actually talk to him. He looked up and gave her a grin. “Good to see you, Molly,” he said, his eyes lighting up as he spoke. Then he turned to Sherlock. “Jarrod Teague.” He extended his hand towards Sherlock, and after a moment of eyeing it warily Sherlock shook it. “Greg's over near the body. The initial observation has already been finished but he asked for the bodies to stay there until you could take a look.”

“Don't tell me to put on one of those suits,” Sherlock said gruffly.

“Greg told me about that quirk, so you don't have to,” Jarrod said. “But we have gloves for both of you.”

“Thank you,” Molly said as Sherlock held out his hand for the gloves. Jarrod handed him a pair and then he lifted up the crime scene tape and ducked under it. Jarrod held it up for Molly and she went under as well, and Jarrod followed her. “It must be a complicated murder for Greg to call Sherlock.”

“Well, it's something that had Greg puzzled, and I couldn't add much more to what I observed,” he said.

“How did their deaths occur?” she asked, watching Sherlock go over to the bodies.

“They'd had a bout of diarrhea and said they were nauseous this morning, but they decided to brave the city anyway. An hour ago they both just dropped down and started convulsing. They were drooling uncontrollably before they died so the main theory is that they were poisoned, but their companions weren't affected and they've been together since ten this morning.”

“Huh,” she said. “I'd say the chances are it's a slow acting poison. There are a few that could have those symptoms, but most of them have other effects that would have shown up before they actually died. Sherlock might have a better idea of ones that would work the way this one did.”

“Well, I'm sure your insight would be welcomed as well,” he said as they got over to the bodies.

“You said they last ingested food around six hours ago?” Sherlock was asking Lestrade as they got close enough to hear what he was saying. He was examining one of the bodies, paying close attention to the woman's mouth.

Lestrade nodded and looked at his notes. “They had breakfast at ten this morning and then felt too ill to eat anything else.”

“I think I know what it might have been,” Sherlock said. “I need to have blood work run to be sure, but if the dab of honey on her mouth contains what I think it does then chances are they were poisoned with honey made from bees who had fed on rhododendrens or azaleas.” He stood up and looked over at Molly. “Have you ever seen anyone poisoned by that method?” he asked her.

She shook her head. “That's a new one.”

“There is always the chance it was an accident, and if that is the case you might see more poisonings of that method. If they are the only deaths by that means, however, that means it was deliberate, and I would start by looking at their traveling companions. You need to track down where the honey is if the poison from those flowers is detected in their system.”

“I will,” Lestrade said. He looked over at Molly. “Do you want to contribute anything?”

She shook her head. “I don't think my observations would make a difference. Sherlock seems to have a pretty solid idea of what happened.”

“Well, hopefully it won't cause a panic about tainted honey,” Lestrade said. He then watched Sherlock strip off his gloves. “I'm sorry it's not more complicated for you.”

“If you need further assistance don't hesitate to ask,” Sherlock said. He then nodded towards the crime scene tape. “Perhaps the three of us could speak in private a moment?” Lestrade nodded and he, Sherlock and Molly walked over to a secluded area of the crime scene. “Has there been any progress on identifying the stain that was on the box?”

Lestrade nodded. “It's a combination of gun cleaning supplies. There's some sort of solvent as well as breech plug grease and lubricant, but none of it is linked to any specific brand. They all appear to be homemade.”

Sherlock was quiet for a moment. “When I have more clues I think that will help immensely. Is there any chance I can get the exact chemical makeup of each part of the stain?”

“I'll get it to you as soon as possible,” he replied with a nod.

“Thank you.” Lestrade blinked slightly and Sherlock frowned. “What?”

“You thanked me for doing something. That's new.”

“I'm attempting to treat my friends better,” he said with a slight shrug.

“So we're friends?” Lestrade asked with a grin.

“Yes,” Sherlock said with a nod. “I thought that was obvious.”

“No, not really. But it's a good thing to know.” Lestrade pulled his coat tighter around him. “I'll get you the results and if anything else develops with this case I'll keep you informed.”

“Very well,” Sherlock replied.

“Hopefully next time you'll actually have something to do,” Lestrade told Molly with a grin.

“It's all right that I didn't. I'm just disappointed I missed seeing Sherlock work,” she said with a smile of her own. “Next time, perhaps.”

“I'm fairly sure there will be a few next times,” Lestrade said. “I'll get back to the crime scene now. See you both later, all right?”

“Bye, Greg,” Molly said as Sherlock nodded. The two of them began to walk back to the crime scene tape. “How did you know about that poison?” she asked.

“There are a few poisons that kill that way, but the smudge of honey on the corner of the woman's mouth lead me to thinking it was tainted honey, because the other poisons would take time to prepare and based on what Lestrade had told me there had not been time to prepare any other poisons. And the woman did not look as though she had been poisoned for an extended period of time.”

“Ah,” she said with a nod. They ducked back under the crime scene tape and made their way to the street. “So what are you going to do for the rest of the day?”

“Once I get the results of the components on the stain I'm going to start researching how someone would come up with those particular combinations. Whoever it is who made the latest gift is a gun expert if they have homemade cleaning solutions and lubricants.” He flipped the collar of his coat up against the cold. “Aside from that, however, I have no other plans.”

“Well, John said he was going to have a late night tonight, so it's just us until at least nine,” she said. “I thought I could cook for us before I relax with a film.”

“I can take everything into my room if you would prefer,” he said as they got to the pavement.

“You don't have to feel as though you can't stay in the sitting room,” she said. “I can read a book instead.”

“You should be able to relax how you want,” he replied. “Neither you or John should have to live your lives around me.”

“Well, I rather have to at the moment,” she pointed out. “You're not letting me out of your sight, remember?”

He stopped walking and looked at her. It looked as though he was weighing something in his head. Finally he spoke. “Would you like to watch a movie at the cinema instead?” he asked.

“But you have plans,” she said.

“You've been cooped up inside most of the last week or so while I've been trying to figure out all I can from the evidence I have. It's only fair if you get to enjoy yourself for at least one afternoon this week.”

“Could we toss in eating at a restaurant as well?” she asked hopefully.

He nodded. “That would be fine with me.”

She gave him a wide grin. “This is going to be nice, I think. As long as I can pick a movie you aren't going to hate, at any rate.”

“Avoid romantic comedies. Or comedies in general, actually,” he said.

“So that leaves dramas and action movies,” she said thoughtfully. “Do you have any preferences?”

He was quiet for a moment. “Action movies, I think. A drama would require me to pay attention. If we watch a movie where I can let my mind wander that would be best.”

“As far as I know there are only two out now, 'RoboCop' and 'Non-Stop,'” she said. “The first one didn't interest me as much since I wasn't a fan of the original version.”

“Then we can watch the second one,” he said. “What is it about?”

“I'm not sure. All I know is Liam Neeson is the star and it takes place on a plane. I've seen a few of his action movies and enjoyed them. He's a rather unexpected actor to star in those kind of movies. I'm used to him in dramatic fare or the occasional comedy, though that was earlier in his career.”

“If it interests you I can tolerate it,” he replied. “Do we want to do the film before or after we eat?”

“Let's find out when there's a showing first,” she said. “Then we can decide.”

“Very well.” He reached over and hailed them a cab, asking the driver to take them to the closest cinema when they got settled. The cab took off before he spoke again. “If you want to do things like this more often, let John or I know. We can make time to accompany you to things so you aren't at home all the time.”

“What about things like plays or musicals, or concert performances? Because I try to go to one at least once a month. More if I can.”

“I suppose I could tolerate an orchestral performance. Plays and musicals would probably be something I would avoid, though if John is unable to attend with you I can simply tune it out.” He looked over at her. “What other things do you usually enjoy?”

She thought about it for a moment. “Films, mostly. I brought over a lot of my collection but I tend to go to the cinema at least three times a week. It's a way to be around people but be by myself as well. There's something about watching a movie at the cinema that's more appealing than watching it at home. And now that I'm not actually working I plan to catch up on the reading list I set for myself years ago that I keep adding to. And I love to bake. There were days I was too tired from my post to do much cooking, but on my days off I would bake up a storm. A lot of it went to the Yard, just because everyone there works so hard and deserves a bit of a treat.”

“You did seem especially friendly with Teague,” he said.

“Well, we _are_ friendly,” she said. “I enjoy talking to him. And before you say anything I don't secretly fancy him.”

“I wasn't going to say that,” he said, slightly defensively.

“But it sounded implied,” she said. “I am allowed to have male friends who I hold no romantic interest in. It does actually happen. I mean, you're one of them.”

“But you did hold a romantic interest in me,” he countered.

She didn't want to have this conversation. She didn't want to go into whether she still fancied him or not because it would be easier if she didn't. It would be safer. Finally she made a decision in her head as to how to proceed. “ _Did_ being the operative word,” she said, looking at him intently. “You left, Sherlock. You left and I had to move on. I had no clue if or when you would come back. I mean, I knew you weren't dead every time I got a letter, but what happened if I went two months without hearing from you? Or six months? Or a year? Was I supposed to just wait? And what would have been the point? I may have been interested in you but you were never interested in me.” She looked away at that point. “I deserve to be happy, Sherlock. I don't think you would have made me happy.”

He was quiet for quite a few minutes. The silence stretched on so much she started to worry she'd angered him, and she turned again to see him looking at her. “I suppose I wouldn't have,” he said quietly. She saw he almost looked sad about it, and that surprised her.

“Sherlock...” she began, but he shook his head and she stopped. She looked at him for a long moment and then leaned towards the driver. “221B Baker Street, please”

“You don't have to go back home,” he said, his eyes widening.

“I don't feel like going to the cinema anymore,” she said. “Maybe another time.”

“I made you upset,” he said with a sigh. “That wasn't my intent.”

“You didn't make me upset, Sherlock. I just...we never talked about it. We've been living together for weeks now and we've avoided this topic and now that it's come up I find I actually don't want to talk about it,” she said. “I'm just not in the mood to enjoy a film right now.”

“I'll retire to my room so you can have ample space,” he said. “Because it's obvious to me you don't want to be around me right now.”

“That is not what I meant,” she said, her voice pained. “I just don't want to deal with that topic right now.”

“And it would be best if I wasn't around to make you think about it.”

She was quiet for a full two minutes. Was he really that upset that she didn't want to talk about that? Just because she wanted to avoid a topic didn't mean she wanted to avoid _him_ “Driver? Pull over,” she said when she finally spoke.

“We're not anywhere close to home,” he said as the driver pulled over to the curb.

“I need to get out and clear my head,” she said, reaching for her handbag. “I can survive a few hours on my own.”

“It's not safe,” he said as she rummaged through her handbag.

“Then what are we going to do, Sherlock? Argue about this?” she asked. “Because I don't want a fight.”

“At least take the cab all the way home. I'll get out here. If you're at home I'll know you're safe.” He reached over for the buckle of his seat belt, undoing it. “I'll come back in a few hours.”

She stopped looking through her handbag. “Fine,” she said quietly.

He opened the door and exited the cab. Before he shut the door he reached for his wallet and paid the driver. “Make sure she goes to 221B Baker Street. Whatever is left over is yours to keep.”

She leaned back in her seat and looked out the window as he shut the door. After a moment the cab moved back into traffic. She tried her best not to dwell on her thoughts, instead focusing on the city passing by her window. Finally the cab pulled up to her temporary home and she got out, going to the door. She had a key and so she let herself in, going up to the sitting room for a moment before going to her bedroom. She paced back and forth for a moment before moving over towards the window. She knew the general location of the camera monitoring her window and she stood in its view. “Your brother's an idiot,” she said, not entirely sure if Mycroft would even realize she was talking to him. “A world class idiot.” She moved back to her bed just as her mobile rang. Warily she pulled it out of her handbag and saw it was Mycroft. “Do you have audio surveillance as well in this room?” she asked incredulously after she answered.

“No, but I can read lips,” he replied. “I imagine there is something in particular he's done to make you think he's an idiot?”

“He thinks every man I'm friends with has some sort of romantic interest in me. Or I have one in them,” she said. “It's frustrating.”

“Lestrade was attracted to you,” he said.

“Do I want to know how you know this?” she asked with a groan, leaning back on her bed.

“It would be best if you don't,” he replied. “He is no longer attracted to you, however. And John never had an attraction towards you. You are not his type. And Lestrade's new subordinate does not appear to have any romantic intentions towards you either. I don't think you're his type either.”

“This conversation just keeps getting better,” she said sourly.

“Does it matter that they're not attracted to you?” he asked, sounding as though he was genuinely curious. “You aren't attracted to any of them.”

“Well, I suppose it doesn't,” she conceded.

He was quiet for a moment. “I am not one to give advice of a romantic nature,” he said. “But just because a few men do not desire your company in that way doesn't mean all men find you undesirable.”

“Well, so long as I have Sherlock playing knight protector I won't find out who does, now will I?” she asked.

“He's doing it to keep you safe,” he replied. “I think if anything happened to you he would never fully recover from it.”

“I'm not that important to him,” she said quietly.

“You are the most important woman in the world to him,” he countered. “He cares for you more than he does any other woman in his life. More than our mother, more than Mrs. Hudson...more than anyone. I think with you he can be more open, and that is something he desperately needs and he knows it.”

“And I made him feel horrible,” she said, her eyes wide. “God, I think I'm the bigger idiot right now.”

“I can always tell him to go home immediately so you can apologize,” he said.

“I wouldn't know where to start right now,” she replied.

“I would start with a simple 'I'm sorry.' Supposedly it does wonders.”

“Supposedly?” she asked.

“I rarely apologize so I don't have much experience with people's reaction to that phrase,” he said. “It doesn't seem to work with you. But I can't imagine Sherlock will be upset if you start with that.”

“I suppose.”

“Do you wish me to summon him back to Baker Street?” he asked.

“No, it's all right. I'll wait until he comes back.” She paused. “In a way this chat has actually helped. Thank you.”

“You're welcome. Just don't make it a habit. I have other business to attend to which is more important. I will speak with you again if there is a pressing need.”

She was just about to reply when she heard a click on the other end, indicating he had ended the call. She pulled her mobile away from her ear and stared at it before setting it down on the bed next to her. She hadn't realized she was important to Sherlock. She knew he cared, knew he wanted to keep her safe, but she had chalked that up to them being friends. Being told she was the most important woman in his life had been quite a shock. And she had been very short with him, which he didn't deserve. Having her snap at him had probably hurt him, and she felt horrible for doing that even if she hadn't quite intended to. She laid on her bed for a few more moments before getting up and heading into the kitchen. Times like these required puttering around in the kitchen to get her mind off things.

She decided to make a cheesecake from scratch. She had all the ingredients to make a currant swirl cheesecake, and that was her go to comfort food when she was stressed. She began putting it together and had just gotten the cheesecake part ready when she heard the front door open. She tensed slightly, pausing in her baking to turn towards the sitting room. She relaxed when she saw it was Sherlock, but only a little. “I'll go to my room,” he said, turning around.

“I didn't realize I was important to you,” she said, taking a step towards him, then another.

She could see him hang his head. “You spoke to my brother,” he said.

“I may have stood in view of the camera and told him you were an idiot,” she said. “And he may have called me immediately afterward.”

“It wasn't his place to say anything,” he said.

“But it was good to know,” she said. “I mean, I know we're friendly. I think we're actually friends at this point, to be honest. But I didn't realize quite how important to you I was. And it's all right that you didn't tell me. I know now, and I'll make sure I let you know how important you are to me, too.”

He was quiet for a few moments. “What _exactly_ did he tell you?” he asked.

“That I was the most important woman in the world to you,” she said slowly.

“He would have said that,” he murmured. He lifted his head up and turned to look at her. “I don't think you got the full meaning of what my brother meant,” he said.

“There was more to it?” she asked, confused. She took a step closer. “Sherlock, what aren't you telling me?”

“I saw the way Teague's eyes lit up when he saw you, when you two spoke,” he said. “You interest him. Perhaps not romantically, but you are someone he wants to get to know. Or to know better, I should say.”

“What does this have to do with how you feel about me?” she asked as she frowned.

“Because I got jealous,” he said quietly. “And I have no reason to.”

Her eyes widened. “Do you...?” she asked, trailing off.

“There's no point if I do, in fact, fancy you,” he said quietly as he began to pace. “We aren't a good fit. You said that yourself and you're right. I will only hurt you. It's inevitable. So let's pretend I don't and simply remain friends.”

“I can't just ignore that, and neither can you,” she said. “I mean, that's--”

“Can we please just forget this conversation has taken place?” he asked, cutting her off. It almost sounded like he was pleading.

“No, I can't do that,” she said quietly.

He sighed. “I'll speak with Mycroft about keeping you somewhere else that's safe, then,” he replied. “I'll do my best to solve this as quickly as I can so you can have your life back. After that we can avoid each other unless absolutely necessary. I'll make sure that--:”

“Sherlock, shut up for a moment,” she said, cutting him off this time. He looked over at her and blinked. She shut her eyes. “Just how important am I to you? I want to hear it from you, not your brother.”

He was quiet for a moment. “I trust you, more than I trust anyone aside from John. I know you would never willingly hurt me, and if someone tried to make you hurt me you'd fight them tooth and nail. You are patient and kind, especially to me, even when I've given you no reason to be that way towards me. I don't want to see you hurt in any way, whether it's by cruel words or physical attack. I would defend you even if it cost me my life. I think of all the people I know, you and John are the two I care for the most, and I know I care about you in a different way than I care about him.”

She opened her eyes and looked at him, and she saw something she had never seen on his face before: uncertainty. He had laid it all out there for her and he was fully expecting her to rebuff him. She could see it in his face. She took a step closer to him. “You're very important to me, Sherlock,” she said.

“What do you mean by that?” he asked quietly.

She wrung her hands slightly. “I lied, in the cab. I mean, about you. Or rather, how I feel about you. I haven't moved on, not entirely. With all of this going on I thought we would be nothing more than friends, ever. I thought it was easier that way, safer. If we were just friends I could be around you without wanting more, without pushing for anything. I wouldn't be putting myself out there to have you reject me, just like every other man I've fancied has since you fell. Just like you used to before that.”

“I wouldn't reject you now,” he said. “I just don't want to hurt you, and that's what I'll end up doing. I know how I am. And I refuse to do that to you.”

She closed the gap between them. “I will put up with a lot, especially if you actually make an effort. I mean, you have to try _really_ hard because if you don't you will end up hurting me. But I want to try. I think if we both make an effort we could make things work. I just need to know if you want to try.”

“Yes, I do,” he said, looking down at her.

“That's good,” she said, giving him a wide smile. “That's really good.”

“So what should we do first?” he asked.

“I'm in the middle of baking, but maybe when I'm done we could get takeaway and sit on the sofa and watch a film. It's not quite the same as an actual date, but it's a start. Does that sound good to you?”

He nodded slowly. “It does,” he said.

“Then that's what we'll do,” she said. She hesitated a moment, then leaned in and kissed his cheek. “You order the takeaway and I'll finish up what I'm doing and then we can pick out a film. It shouldn't take long.”

“What are you in the mood for?” he asked.

“Something spicy,” she said. She made her way back into the kitchen and he followed, looking at the menus. “I'll trust your judgment.”

“All right,” he said, giving her a small smile. She gave him another grin and then went back to preparing the cheesecake. This whole afternoon had certainly been a surprise, but she had hope that if they tried hard enough they could really make this work, and that pleased her so very much.


	7. Chapter 7

She was pleased with how things were going two weeks later, at least in regards to the beginning of an actual relationship with Sherlock. He had been quite tentative about a lot of things that he did or suggestions he made, and it almost seemed as though he was trying very hard to do what he thought would please her the most even if he didn't really want to do whatever it happened to be, which was very unlike him. She was trying to get him to see that it was all right for him to actually _not_ be that way, that she didn't have to make each and every decision because he had say in things too, and it was all right if they disagreed on things. She pointed out that that was what compromise was for. Things had gotten better the last few days, though, so she was hoping that he was actually listening to what she had to say.

Today happened to be a day with everyone at home at Baker Street. The unrelenting rain outside was aiming to keep everyone indoors, and even though it was early she could see that it had the potential to be a day where everyone either got easily bored or easily irritated. John had made all of them breakfast and they were finishing up their meals when Mrs. Hudson came into the sitting room. “Dreary day, isn't it?” she asked.

“Absolutely dreary,” Sherlock said in a tone that showed he would much rather not be cooped up inside all day.

Mrs. Hudson gave him a look but he ignored it. Then she turned to Molly. “What's wrong?

“We had made plans to go out and since it's raining so heavily we've had to cancel them,” Molly said as she took her plate to the sink. “He's not happy about that.”

“Oh, dear,” Mrs. Hudson said. “I'm sorry for that.”

“Well, I've spent the last four days doing what I needed to do for the case Lestrade gave me,” he said as he pushed his plate away. “I felt Molly deserved a break from having to follow me everywhere.”

“We can always have a day in,” Molly said. “Even if it's a full house.”

“Well, isn't the point of going out on a date being alone with the person you're dating?” Sherlock countered. “Because being in a house full of people isn't exactly what we'd had planned.”

“It's going to be one of _those_ days,” John said with a sigh.

“Well, dear, you just have to either make do with what you have or brave the weather to have that time alone,” Mrs. Hudson said as she came over to the table. “Molly obviously doesn't mind the change of plans. You shouldn't either.”

“That's not the point,” Sherlock said.

“Then what is the point?” Molly asked gently with a touch of curiosity.

“I'm absolutely wretched at all of this,” he said quietly. “Things aren't going right and this is yet another thing that's gone wrong.”

“You take that back right now,” Molly said, moving back towards the table. She looked rather upset. “If you were doing things wrong trust me, I would have said something already.”

“But you have,” he countered. “You stated that I have continuously been trying to please you at the cost of things I would prefer. You had to tell me that I could stop any time.”

“I didn't say it like that,” she said. “All I said is you got equal say in how things went and we could compromise instead of you trying to make me happy all the time.”

“And that was proof I was doing something wrong,” he said. “I'm no good at this relationship business.”

“Two weeks and they're having their first fight,” John mused. “It took longer than I'd thought it would.”

“Don't you start, John,” Molly said, glaring at him. Then she went back to her chair and sat down, looking at Sherlock. She took a deep breath and then reached over for his hand. “Yes, our plans had to change. I'm not happy about that because I was looking forward to them. And yes, you were being overly cautious at the start but you've worked on that. But just because there are very small problems does not mean you're absolute rubbish at being in this relationship. And remember, I've got the patience of a saint, or so I've been told. So don't think the worst, all right?”

He held her gaze and then nodded. “Very well.”

“Good,” she said, giving him a smile. She got a faint one in return and in response she squeezed his hand before letting go. Then turned to Mrs. Hudson, who had sat across from her. “So what plans did you have today, Mrs. Hudson?”

“I was going to pop out and get some groceries,” she said. “And then I was considering visiting some old friends. I still might. That's why umbrellas were invented, after all.”

“You'll need a very large umbrella to keep from getting soaked to the bone,” John said, getting up to take his own plate to the sink. “It's pouring down rain _and_ there's a brisk wind.”

“Well, I think some things are worth getting your trousers soaked,” Mrs. Hudson said. Then she turned to Sherlock. “You two could simply wait and see if the weather clears up, you know. Then you won't have to spend the entire day cooped up at home.”

“Perhaps,” he said with a nod.

“Well, I like the idea of curling up on the sofa and watching a film or two while we wait to see if the weather gets better,” Molly said. “And if it doesn't we can just watch a few more films.”

“Are you sure you'll be happy spending your day like that?” Sherlock asked.

“Yes, Sherlock, I'm sure,” she replied with a nod. “The last four days I've been at crime scenes and St. Bart's and Scotland Yard and not really gotten to spend any time relaxing. As long as you're relaxing too then I'll be happy wherever we end up for the day.”

“Well, I think I'll make myself scarce,” John said. “Much as I'm happy for the two of you every time I see you together I feel very...” He trailed off.

“Single?” Molly suggested.

“I was going to say miserably alone, but they both mean the same thing,” he said with a grin. “Don't get me wrong, I'm glad the two of you are together. I've seen Sherlock have more genuine half smiles the last two weeks than I have since I met him. But I keep getting reminded I have crap luck with women when you two are acting...coupley.”

“We are not coupley,” Sherlock said. “It's not as though I've kissed her yet.”

“What?” Mrs. Hudson asked, looking shocked. John looked just as surprised as he came back to the table.

“Well, that is true, but I don't mind,” Molly said. “I'd rather have it not be something he's uncomfortable with. I can wait.”

“You really do have the patience of a saint,” John said.

“Two weeks, though?” Mrs. Hudson asked.

“See? I am making a hash of it,” Sherlock said, getting out of his chair and picking up his plate and coffee off the table. He went towards the sink and put his plate in it. “That's not normal.”

“I don't care if it's normal or not. Shagging after two weeks isn't normal, either, and I'm certainly not pushing for that,” Molly said. “I can wait.”

Mrs. Hudson looked from Molly to Sherlock, and back to Molly. “Then I think you're the perfect woman for him to date, dear. You know what's best.”

“Yes, I do,” she said with a nod. “So no one say another word about it.” Mrs. Hudson nodded, and then when Molly turned to John she saw him nodding as well. “Now then. New topic?”

“I think I'm going to brave the weather, head to the clinic and catch up on some paperwork,” John said, tilting his head slightly. “See if they need an extra hand as well. Most of the mothers come in after school lets out on a day like today, complaining their child might have a touch of pneumonia.”

“We aren't trying to run you off,” Molly said.

John gave her a small grin. “Well, catching up on my work isn't the only reason I want to go into work.”

“Is there someone you fancy, John?” Mrs. Hudson asked with a warm smile.

“I don't know if I fancy her, but she is interesting,” he said. “There's a woman in the building next door who generally seems to take her lunch around the same time I do. We've chatted a few times and I enjoy talking to her. I'm hoping she'll be there today, and since I probably won't be seeing patients I can take a longer lunch.”

“Good for you,” Molly said.

“Well, if John's willing to brave the weather I might be convinced to do the same,” Mrs. Hudson said. “Perhaps not getting the groceries, but I would like to see one of my dear friends who had surgery recently. She's at her home, recuperating in bed, and I know she'd love a visit.”

“Do you want to attempt to do the same?” Sherlock asked Molly as he came back to the table.

Molly shook her head. “John and Mrs. Hudson can take a chance getting soaked. I was serious when I said I'd like a day curled up on the sofa with you and a film or two. I think that would be a wonderful way to relax.”

“All right,” he said. He took a sip of his coffee. “If the weather clears up we could always go out later.”

“Exactly,” Molly said, giving him a wide smile.

“I should probably go change into something that isn't my pyjamas,” John said as he stood up again. “I don't think that's appropriate for work, even if it is my day off.”

“Good-bye, John,” Mrs. Hudson said.

“Bye,” Molly said.

“See all of you tonight,” John said as he got out into the sitting room and then left.

“I should probably get ready to go as well. I can make the rounds today, see quite a few friends if I leave early enough,” Mrs. Hudson said. She got up and then paused for a moment before giving Sherlock's shoulders a hug. Sherlock was surprised, but after a moment he put his hands on her arm. “As long as Molly's happy you're doing just fine. Just make sure she's happy, all right? Without making yourself miserable.”

“All right,” he said, looking up at her. Mrs. Hudson let go and then gave the two of them a wave before she left the room. He turned to look at Molly. “It appears as though part of our plans came to fruition, even though we aren't leaving here.”

“I'll admit, I'm glad it's not going to be all four of us stuck here today,” she said with a smile, reaching over for her own coffee. “But I really don't mind not going out today. And I don't mind the fact we're taking things slowly, either. I'd rather do that then rush into things and have you absolutely hate the way it's all happening.”

“You'll want it eventually. You would be well within your rights to demand it. And if I'm not comfortable then you'll grow bitter with our relationship, or you'll look for it somewhere else. Either way I will lose you and it will be my fault and my fault alone,” he said quietly.

She was quiet for a minute or two, and then she stood up. “Do you trust me?” she asked.

He nodded. “Implicitly.”

“Then move your chair back. I want to run an experiment.” He gave her a peculiar look but dutifully did what she had asked. She set her coffee down on the table and then stood up, moving closer to him. “I'm going to do things, and you're going to tell me how you feel on a scale of one to five, and maybe specifics about how you feel about them, if you want. One is very uncomfortable, two is moderately uncomfortable, three is neutral, four is moderately pleased and five is very pleased.” She moved in front of him. “Do you agree to the parameters of the experiment?”

“I do,” he said with a nod.

“All right then. Let's start.” The first thing she did was to move behind him, pressing her chest to the back of the chair as well as his upper back. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and set her chin near his collarbone. “Number?” she asked.

He thought for a moment. “Four. It's not so bad having you close.”

She kept her arms around him for a moment before she stood up more. She set her chin on the top of his head and moved her arms so they were around his neck, and her chest was pulled away more. . “Number?”

“Four as well,” he said. “Though I like the other position better.”

“I do too,” she said with a slight chuckle. She pulled away completely and then put her fingers on his head. Even though his hair had been cut and colored the curls were still visible. She began running her fingers through the curls, her fingertips and fingernails grazing his scalp. “Number?”

“Five,” he said in a tone of voice that made her file this particular act as something she should do if she wanted them to shag, whenever that might happen. She moved her hands away at that point and brushed her fingers along the back of his neck by accident. “That's a four,” he said. “That area is quite sensitive.”

“I wasn't even trying,” she said with a smile.

“I liked that,” he said.

“Then I'll remember that.” She moved her hands along the shoulder blades, kneading the muscles slightly. He felt rather tense so she used her thumbs on the tough spots, trying to rub out the tension she felt near his neck. Finally she just moved her hands up and massaged his neck, watching him relax. “Number?” she asked.

“Five,” he replied. “You make remarkably good use of your hands.”

“I took a few massage therapy classes in my free time,” she said with a smile. “I could give you a full body massage if I could get my table from home.”

“I say we brave the rain and go get it,” he murmured as she began to move back down to his shoulders. “And perhaps after you have given me one I could give you one.”

“Do you know how to give massages?” she asked.

“I have had minimal experience but I'm a quick learner. I can learn from what you do to me.”

“I'll consider leaving Baker Street to go get it,” she said. “It's been a very long time since I've gotten a full body massage.”

“I would like to try to make sure that you feel as good as I do now,” he said, looking up at her. “It's only fair.”

“Well, I have to stop now because there are more experiments to run,” she said. He looked quite disappointed at that. Then she leaned in. “I can always do this again later, you know.”

“Do you promise?” he asked.

“I promise.” She pulled away from behind him and moved next to him. After a moment she sat down on his lap, facing the kitchen, and then she leaned into him and rested her head near the crook of his neck while putting an arm around his waist. “Number?”

“Three,” he said. “Possibly three and a half. This is a rather awkward position and it doesn't feel quite right.”

She nodded and got up. She moved away, moving in front of him and then straddled his lap. She sat down and moved as close as she could, wrapping her arms around his neck. “Number?” she asked.

“Four,” he said as he hesitantly began to run a hand up and down her back. “We're almost face to face.”

“We definitely are,” she said with a smile. “I mean, you're a bit taller than me. I'd say about twenty-two centimeters? When you're sitting down and I'm sitting like this we can be face to face better.”

“I actually like you sitting this way,” he murmured.

“You won't when your thighs start to go numb,” she said, chuckling softly. She pulled back slightly but he tightened his hold on her. “Sherlock?”

“Am I allowed to do something for this series of experiments?” he asked.

She nodded slowly. “All right. What do you need me to do?”

“Move as close as you can,” he said. She shifted, standing up slightly and moving forward more before settling back on his legs. Now she was slightly more raised up than he was. He ran a hand up her back to the back of her neck, and she responded by leaning in more. He eased her head down until their mouths were very close, and then he stretched up slightly to kiss her. It was very soft, very tentative, but she was so happy he had done that. She increased the pressure just a little, and after a moment she opened her mouth slightly while moving her hands to frame his face. Finally they pulled apart to catch their breath. “Number?” he asked, looking up at her, slightly uncertain.

“Ten,” she said, giving him the widest smile she'd worn in weeks. “I think we need to run another experiment, though. Just to make sure this one was the most successful. I think we should stand up for the new experiment, though.”

He nodded. “I could agree to that.” She got off of him and stood up, and he followed. When he was fully upright he reached over and pulled her close, leaving a small amount of space between them. He settled his hands on her waist and she put her arms around his neck. After a moment they both leaned in and their lips met. This kiss was only slightly less tentative, but it was still nice. If he'd never had any experience kissing someone he was a natural, she decided. When they were done they were both breathing hard. “I think that was also a ten,” he said, moving his hands to pull her closer to him.

“Then that particular experiment shows me you are an excellent kisser,” she said. “I think at various points throughout the day we should run more experiments, just to be sure.”

“Of course,” he said with a grin. “That's the only way to prove it scientifically.”

“Well, for now, let's take a break and pick a film to watch,” she said. “Then we can experiment again while in a new environment.” His own grin grew and she smiled back. Yes, it had all _definitely_ been worth the wait, she decided. She hadn't expected him to be comfortable with that but she was glad he had done it. Now that they had the question would become how often they could actually do that, because this was something she honestly wouldn't mind doing as often as possible.


	8. Chapter 8

A week after their first kiss they were lounging in the sitting room, each doing things to occupy themselves. Sherlock had decided to run an experiment that had intrigued him and John had picked up a book series he thought might interest Molly. There were five books in the series and she'd already gone through three of them. She was currently near the end of the fourth book and was eager to find out how it all ended. Sherlock had been staring at the experiment for an hour and she had ignored him to focus on the book. He finally gave an exasperated sigh and then went over to the sofa, flopping down on it. “What went wrong?” she asked, not looking up from the book.

“There should have been a reaction by now,” he said, staring at the ceiling. “I measured everything correctly. I added the compounds in what was the appropriate order and at the appropriate time. And it's just sitting there doing absolutely nothing.”

“Hmm,” she said, turning the page of her book.

“Hmm? That's all you can say about it?” he asked. He turned to look at her. “What exactly is this book you're reading?”

“It's a series, actually. It's by David Eddings and it's absolutely brilliant. There's a young farm boy who finds out he's actually a powerful wizard, and he meets all these interesting people while on a journey and then he finds out he's actually the King of Riva. Now he's going off to fight a god.” She looked up. “Supposedly after the next book there's another five part series with the same characters that take place years later, and there are two prequels as well. John only got me the first five books, though.”

“I didn't know you were that interested in fantasy novels,” he said.

“I read the Lord of the Rings trilogy ten times by the time I went to university. Some of the very nice books I own are the trilogy as well as The Hobbit,” she said with a smile. “And there are other fantasy novels I love as well that aren't sword and sorcery types. I'm a big fan of two series by Mercedes Lackey, Bedlam's Bard and the Diana Tregarde trilogy. I've spent a small fortune on buying the Xanth novels by Piers Anthony. And I own almost every Discworld novel by Terry Pratchett.”

“I have no clue what any of those are,” he said after a moment. “Well, other than the Tolkien books. Those I've read before, when I couldn't find any interesting books on pirates when I was young.”

“I would have been surprised if you'd heard of any of the other series,” she said before turning back to her book. “If you ever want to expand your horizons I could loan you one or two.”

“I'm quite happy avoiding fiction, thank you,” he said.

“You watch fictional movies with me all the time,” she pointed out.

“And I barely retain anything I see or hear,” he said. “They clutter up my mind.”

“You mean your mind palace?” she asked.

“Yes,” he said.

“Ah.” She lapsed into silence as she went back to paying attention to her book. After a few minutes she heard Sherlock get up and come behind her. He leaned over and glanced at the book. “Yes?” she asked.

“Exactly how small is this Ce'Nedra character?” he asked.

“Tiny. Tinier than me, I suppose,” she said. “She's part Dryad.”

“Why does she want armor?” he asked.

“Because she needs to convince an army to fight for her,” she said, turning the page. “She needs to look the part.”

“Go back,” he said. “I wasn't done reading about the armorer telling her how impractical the armor she'd designed would be.”

She tilted her head back to look at him. “If you start from the first book it's much more interesting.”

“I don't think I want to devote that much time to it. This chapter is amusing, though.”

She paused a moment, then lifted the book up above her head. “Read it yourself. And don't you dare spoil it for me. I want to find out exactly what happens on my own.” He took the book from her and flipped back to the previous page, beginning to pace as he read. Molly watched him with an amused look on her face for a few minutes and was about to say something when there was a loud bang from the general vicinity of the experiment. White smoke was wafting up from it, and even from her vantage point it looked as though the entire contents of the beaker had exploded all over the kitchen counter. She got up out of her seat and went over to view what had happened. Then she glanced back at Sherlock, who hadn't even seemed fazed. “Sherlock?” she asked.

“Yes?” he responded, continuing to read.

“Your experiment exploded and there's smoke coming up from it.”

He looked up from the book and then scowled. “Damn. I'll have to do it again.”

“I think it's staining the counter,” she said with a frown.

“The counters needed to be updated anyway,” he said, going back to the book.

She shook her head, then walked over to him and took the book out of his hands. “Clean it up before you read any more of that book. I don't think Mrs. Hudson is going to be pleased but if you attempt to stop it before it does much more damage I don't think she'll be completely cross with you.”

He sighed. “Have it your way,” he muttered. He went back into the kitchen and began looking for something to clean up the mess with. She watched him for a moment before picking up her bookmark and saving his place in the book. He was nearly finished when there was a knock on the front door. She tensed slightly as he made his way to the front door. “It's Lestrade and Teague,” he called from the foyer.

She relaxed at the news and waited for the three men to come up into the sitting room. Lestrade and Jarrod both looked pleased to see her, though there was a seriousness to their expressions that made her think they were there to have business with Sherlock. “Hello Greg. Jarrod,” she said with a warm smile.

“You're looking quite well,” Jarrod said, his serious expression easing up slightly as he grinned at her. “Enjoying the career change?”

“I haven't had much to do, actually,” she said with a chuckle. “This has become more of an extended vacation with the occasional foray into criminal investigations. But I'm enjoying myself.”

“That's good,” he said with a nod. Then he turned to Sherlock and the look on his face got less pleasant. “I hope you're treating her well.”

“I treat her quite well,” Sherlock said defensively. “She's important to me.”

“She's a friend, though,” Jarrod said. “I want to make sure she's happy while she's here.”

“I'm very happy here, Jarrod,” she said, standing up and beginning to move towards the two men. Sherlock looked very irritated with Jarrod. She had to wonder if Sherlock might still be jealous. “He's a very good roommate. John says he's certainly improved from the last time.”

“I don't understand why you're here, though,” he said, looking at Sherlock in a way that made her think he might intentionally be trying to antagonize him. This did not bode well.

“There are problems with her home, and I offered her a comfortable place to stay while they were being fixed,” Sherlock said, straightening up as he lied through his teeth. “After all, there is room here.”

“It's a bit weird, though,” Jarrod replied. “From what I've heard you're not exactly the easiest person to get along with. And you didn't treat her very well, at least according to what's been said at the Yard.”

“Well, I've changed,” he said with a shrug. “Not that it's any concern of yours.”

Molly could see Jarrod wanted to say something but she gave Lestrade a look that strongly suggested he intervene. Lestrade nodded and stepped in between them. “We need your help on a case, Sherlock. Suspicious murder in Notting Hill. There doesn't appear to be any way the killer could have gotten inside but it's also not a murder/suicide.”

Sherlock was quiet, staring at Jarrod with barely concealed distaste before turning to Lestrade. “Give me the address. Molly and I can meet you there.”

“You could always catch a ride with us,” Jarrod said in a slightly snide tone. “I think it would be interesting to have an extended conversation with the great Sherlock Holmes.”

“If that was meant to be sarcasm you failed miserably,” Sherlock said, glaring at Jarrod.

“Will you both stop? You're acting like little boys,” Molly said, rolling her eyes as Jarrod began to respond. “Jarrod, I know we're friendly, and that you worry he's not treating me well, but I'm perfectly happy here. Sherlock is a very good friend to me.”

“I'm more than your friend now,” he pointed out.

Jarrod's eyes widened, and Lestrade's did as well, though not as much. “What?”

“We're dating,” Sherlock said, sounding just a bit smug at that.

“But why him?” Jarrod asked, turning to Molly.

“Why not me?” Sherlock asked.

“Because of who you are. You're antisocial and you're not an incredibly nice person from everything I've heard. Sally said you were the biggest thorn in her side while she worked with Greg.” Jarrod straightened up. “Molly deserves better.”

“If you think she deserves someone like you then--” Sherlock began but Molly went over and clamped a hand over his mouth. He looked down at her, narrowing his eyes.

“Both of you listen to me,” she said, keeping her hand on Sherlock's mouth. “I am quite happy with Sherlock, Jarrod. He treats me very well. And I thank you for your concern but I'm a grown woman and I can make my own decisions. And Sherlock, don't bring our relationship into this pissing match. While I'm not going to deny my relationship with you it doesn't need to be common knowledge.” She put a bit more emphasis on that last part, and after a moment Sherlock stopped narrowing his eyes at her. At that point she removed her hand. “Greg, why don't you give me the address? Sherlock was in the middle of something and as soon as he's finished we'll make our way over there.”

Greg nodded, pulling a notebook out of his coat pocket. He pulled out a pen next and wrote something down on it, then ripped the page off and handed it to Molly. Then he turned to Jarrod. “I need to talk to them in private for a moment. I'll meet you in the car.”

Jarrod glared at Sherlock for a moment, then turned back to Lestrade. “Fine,” he said quietly before turning and leaving the sitting room.

The three of them were quiet until they heard Jarrod shut the front door behind him, and then Lestrade turned to Sherlock. “What the bloody hell was that all about, Sherlock?” he asked incredulously.

“He has an interest in Molly and I don't like it,” he said, crossing his arms.

“He also has a fiancée and an infant at home,” Lestrade said, rolling his eyes. “I don't need you acting all jealous and irrational around him. If you're going to come back on as a consultant you need to get along with him. If you thought Sally was bad he'll probably be worse.”

“Right now I'd prefer Donovan,” he replied. “I don't like him, Lestrade. He rubs me the wrong way.”

“I think you're reading too much into this, Sherlock,” Lestrade said before turning to Molly. “You feel the same way, don't you, Molly?”

She nodded, then put a hand on Sherlock's arm. “Sherlock, he really is only a friend. I'm allowed to have friends, even if they're male. I am not attracted to him at all. I'm attracted to _you_. You don't need to get jealous of every man in my life.”

“I'm not jealous of John or Lestrade,” he pointed out. “And Lestrade has fancied you in the past.”

“How did you--” Lestrade asked, his eyes wide.

“Not important,” Sherlock said, cutting him off. “I'm fairly sure you could be around any number of men and have an intimate friendship with them and I wouldn't think they're paying you too much attention. But I feel that way about _him_ because it unsettles me.”

“Is it because he's attractive?” Molly asked.

“I wouldn't consider him attractive. He spends too much time on his personal appearance to make up for the fact he looks rather plain,” Sherlock said with a shrug. “I'm honestly surprised you find him even remotely attractive.”

Molly shook her head. That had not been the point of that question. “Sherlock, let it go. Please. For me?”

He looked at her intently for a moment. Then he sighed. “All right. But only because you asked. But the less time I have to spend with him the better.”

“I'll try and keep you two apart, just like I kept you and Sally apart,” Lestrade said. “But you _will_ come consult on this case, right?”

“I will,” he said. “But as Molly said, I was in the middle of doing something. I suppose if I don't finish it I'll have a very cross landlord to deal with.” Lestrade raised an eyebrow at him. “An experiment backfired. I'm cleaning up the mess.”

“Ah,” Lestrade said. “Try and make it quick. I'd like to get the bodies to St. Bart's as quickly as possible. Molly's replacement isn't nearly as good as she is. He needs more time than she did to do a competent job.”

“Thank you for the compliment, Greg,” she said.

“You're welcome,” he said with a grin. Then he turned back to Sherlock. “Quickly, all right?”

“Fine,” he said. “We'll meet you there shortly.” Lestrade gave him a nod and then turned, making his way to the front door. Sherlock turned to Molly when he heard the front door close. “I didn't mean to embarrass you.”

“It wasn't that,” she said quietly. “I had just hoped to keep the status of our relationship quiet for as long as we could.”

“Is it because you don't want to be judged for it?” he asked, and he actually looked hurt.

“No. Not at all,” she said. “It's mostly because I'm scared that if more people than just our friends know word will get back to M and he'll retaliate in some way.”

“I hadn't even thought of that,” he said, his eyes widening. “And then I went and blurted it out to someone who for all I know will spread it around Scotland Yard by the end of the day.”

“Well, I don't think you could have helped it,” she said quietly. “I got the feeling he was trying to bait you into starting a fight, which is very unlike him.”

“I just think he abhors me as much as I abhor him,” Sherlock said. “He certainly let others influence his opinions of me before he really made an attempt to actually get to know me.”

“You have a reputation, Sherlock. It speaks quite loudly, whether you want it to or not,” she said. Then she leaned in and kissed his cheek softly. “Come on. Let's finish cleaning up the experiment and we can be on our way. I'll even help.”

“All right,” he said, uncrossing his arms. He made his way back to the kitchen and she followed, trying to ignore the feeling in the pit of her stomach that things were about to get much _much_ worse as soon as word got to M that she and Sherlock were dating. It wouldn't do to dwell on it because that would just make her even more stressed, and no one needed that, most certainly not her.


	9. Chapter 9

It was five days after Sherlock's tense interactions with Teague when the person leaving the gifts struck again. She should have expected it; she knew she wouldn't get lucky enough to not have M focus on her anymore, but she had hoped. She was preparing lunch for herself and Sherlock when there had been a knock on the door. She'd paused until Sherlock had come back, and her heart sank when she saw the familiar white florist box. “Another one?” she asked.

“I would imagine so. This one was delivered to me, however, not to you.” He set the box down on the table. “Mycroft has probably already picked up the person who delivered the box to interrogate him. They might be able to tell him something useful. It appeared as though the person delivering it was a member of the homeless population here in London.”

“I'll wait to come over until after you open it,” she said.

He nodded and then went to where he kept his gloves for when he needed to not leave fingerprints on things. He put them on and then undid the ribbon before opening the lid. He examined the contents and then looked over at her as he picked up the note. “There is nothing like the contents of the last package in this one. The person who sent them is aware of our relationship, however.”

She set down the knife she had been using and came over to him and the box. Inside were two voodoo dolls. A photograph of the two of them walking down the street had been ripped in half and each half had been pinned to one of the dolls, with pins in various places. She recognized the outfit she wore as being the one she had worn two days ago. There were more photos from that day scattered in the box among the dark red roses, and their heads were covered in red marker with words like “Mistake” and “Wrong Move” on the photos in the same red marker. “Was there a note?” she asked.

He nodded. “It said 'Beginning a relationship with her was the absolute worst move you could have made in this game. There needs to be a penalty for breaking the rules.'” He looked over at her as she felt herself begin to panic. He put the note back in the box and moved closer to her, putting a hand on each side of her shoulders. “I will not let him harm you. I swear, you will not get hurt.”

“What sort of penalty could he be talking about, then?” she asked, looking up at him. There was concern and fear in her eyes, she knew that, but she couldn't help it. There had been implied threats with the other gifts but this was one that made her think that it could stretch beyond the two of them, that it really could affect other people. “I mean, what if he goes after John? Or Mrs. Hudson?”

“I'll keep them safe too,” he said. She nodded after a moment and then wrapped her arms around him. She knew he would try, and he would try very hard, but there was no guarantee he would actually be able to keep all of them safe no matter how much he wanted to. After a moment he embraced her back, keeping her close. Then he pulled away and looked at her. “I need to make calls. Can you go downstairs and tell Mrs. Hudson it would be best if she didn't leave for a time?”

She nodded. “I can do that.”

“Thank you,” he said, getting his mobile out of his pocket as she moved away.

She made her way to the hallway and then went to Mrs. Hudson's portion of the home. She got to the door and then knocked. “Mrs. Hudson?” she said. “It's Molly. I need to speak with you.” There was a pause, a long enough pause to make her worry that something had happened. She pushed at the door slightly and found it was locked. She knocked again, more forcefully this time. “Mrs. Hudson? Please let me know you're all right.”

After another minute the door opened, and Mrs. Hudson stood there looking concerned. “Whatever is the matter, dear?”

Molly visibly relaxed when she saw the older woman there. “We got another gift. There was a threat that might extend to other people that we know, and Sherlock wants to make sure you don't leave right now.”

“I had no plans for the rest of the week, other than to pop out and see friends. But I can put that off for a time,” she replied. “Tell him not to worry. I'll be fine.”

“All right,” Molly replied. “Thank you.”

“He'll figure it all out soon enough,” Mrs. Hudson said soothingly, putting a hand on her arm and squeezing gently. “He's one of the most brilliant men in the world. He'll be able to solve this puzzle.”

“I hope so,” Molly said, giving her a small grin.

“He will. Just have faith.” Mrs. Hudson let go of her arm then. “Go be there for him. I think he's going to need you.”

“I think he might too.” Mrs. Hudson shut her door and Molly made her way back upstairs. The minute she got there she could see that something was terribly wrong. Fear gripped her heart as she saw Sherlock sitting in one of the chairs at the table, his head in his hands. “Sherlock?”

“Lestrade got shot,” he said, looking up. “It wasn't a fatal shot, but it did do damage. He might not be able to go back to Scotland Yard now.”

“Was it in the course of a case?” she asked, her eyes wide.

He shook her head. “Sniper's bullet as he left for work. It was purposefully meant not to kill him, I think, just greatly injure him.” He ran a hand over his face. “This was the penalty. This was specifically meant to warn me that I can't keep everyone safe, even those who can take care of themselves.”

“What hospital is he at?”

“University College,” he said. “They had him in surgery to remove the bullet from his thigh and check the damage and now he's in recovery.” He stood up at that point and began to pace. “I need to put more work into this. I cannot let whoever M is hurt any more of my friends. He needs to be stopped.”

“Should we go see Greg?” she asked.

He shook his head. “I want to know the particulars about the shooting and visit the scenes for myself. I can speak to him later.”

She moved over to the chair she normally sat in and sat down, dazed. Someone had shot Greg. They had shot him and he might lose his career over it all and it had all been a warning in this dangerous game that was being played. “It's not fair,” she said, looking down at her hands.

“What?” Sherlock asked, pausing in his pacing.

“It's not fair that this is happening. It's not fair other people are being affected. It's not fair Greg got shot and could lose so much over this. It's just...it's not fair.” She looked over at him. “I just want it to stop. I want everyone to be safe.”

“Do you regret helping me?” Sherlock asked quietly.

“No. Absolutely not,” she said adamantly as she shook her head. “I didn't want you to die when you fell off that roof. I didn't want to lose you. I won't ever regret helping you.”

“I don't know what else to do to solve this,” he said. “Other than the gun cleaning supplies and whatever it is I can get from this gift I have no solid clues, no way to start actively searching for whoever is doing this.”

“What about handwriting analysis?” Molly asked. “I mean, the notes aren't typed. They're handwritten, right? If we had a better idea of who might be doing it we could have it analyzed.”

“But we would need a suspect,” he pointed out. “We don't have that yet.”

“I know,” she said with a sigh.

“With Lestrade injured that puts a damper on my investigations,” he said. “I don't trust Teague enough to share the details of what's been happening and I need Lestrade to give the evidence to the technicians to analyze it.”

“It's quite obvious you don't trust Jarrod,” she said.

Sherlock thought for a moment. “Have you told him anything about any of this?” he asked. “When you were alone with him before our confrontation a few days ago?”

She shook her head. “No. You had seemed to want to keep it between the few of us who are affected so I didn't say anything.”

“Good.” He sat down again and then looked up at her. “What would you suggest I do?”

“Go to where Greg got shot. I can ask Sally to ask around and see what she can find out about where the shooter was and any other particulars she can. She and Greg are still close so she'd be concerned and people wouldn't think it's too strange if she asks what's been found out. Then you go see Greg and find out from him exactly what happened, and then tell him about the new gift. And while we're waiting for all of that you can go to St. Bart's and figure out if there are any new clues from the newest box.”

“I think that sounds like a solid plan,” he said with a nod. “Do you wish to accompany me?”

“I think it's best if I don't,” she said after a moment's thought. “John will be back from his errands soon so he can keep Mrs. Hudson and I safe when you go.”

“Then we'll wait for him to return,” he replied.

“In the meantime I'll go back to finishing our food,” she said. “After I call Sally, though.”

“That would be best,” he said, pulling the box closer and beginning to examine the contents.

Molly pulled out her mobile and dialed Sally's number. Their conversation was brief, but Sally already knew quite a few details and she was willing to get as many more as she could. Molly thanked her and then went back into the kitchen, telling Sherlock what she'd found out: that the sniper had been in a vacant room on the fourth floor of the building across from Lestrade's apartment complex, that there had been no casings left at the scene or any indication the room had been used other than a stain near the open window, and that they had found a multitude of fingerprints but Sally was fairly sure none of them would belong to the sniper. Sherlock took all of that in but said nothing, and Molly went back to making the food.

When the sandwiches were done she found she didn't have much of an appetite for it, so she left her serving in case John wanted it and went back into the sitting room. She was still sitting there when the front door opened. “I'm back!” she heard John call out.

“There's been a complication,” Sherlock called back out to him.

“Wonderful,” she could hear him say as he came back into the sitting room, arms full of groceries. “Could I get a hand with these? There's still more outside. Figured I would pick up Mrs. Hudson's things as well.”

“Of course,” Molly said as she got out of the chair she'd been sitting in. “When you're done there's food for you.”

“Good. I'm starving,” he said, giving her a quick grin. She took the groceries and moved them into the kitchen, and after she heard the door open and then shut one more time she waited for him to come back. He did about five minutes later. “So,” he said as he came into the sitting room. “What's the complication?”

“We got another gift and Lestrade got shot,” Sherlock said, gesturing to the box sitting on the table.

John's eyes went wide. “Is he...?”

“No, he's alive. The injuries were meant to wound, not kill.” John came over to the box. “I'm not expecting to get fingerprints from anything but just in case don't touch the contents of the box without gloves.”

“The gloves are still where you left them?” John asked. Sherlock nodded, and he went over and got a pair. He slipped them on and then went through the box. “Seems like another standard creepy gift,” he said when he was done. Then he paused. “Sherlock, there's something on the flower bud underneath the stems.”

Sherlock stood up and moved around to John. John held up the flower and Sherlock pulled out his pocket magnifier to examine it. “There's powder of some sort on it,” he said. “And I think there is a partial fingerprint in the powder.”

“Why would there be a fingerprint on it when there aren't fingerprints on anything else?” Molly asked.

“Perhaps it could be planted to throw you off?” John suggested. 

“That would be most likely,” Sherlock replied. Then he sighed. “Without Lestrade being there to facilitate having evidence looked at by his technicians I won't be able to tell for sure.”

“Well, then why don't you leave the box for a bit and go see him?” John suggested. “The injuries might not be as bad as you think.”

“I suppose,” he replied. “Will you stay here with Molly while I do that and visit the crime scene?”

John nodded. “I can do that.”

“Thank you.” He made his way over to Molly and after a moment's hesitation kissed her softly. “I'll be back when I can,” he said quietly.

“All right,” she said. “Be careful.”

“I will.” He picked up his coat off the back of the other chair and then made his way to the front door. Within a minute he was gone.

John went into the kitchen and got the food she had left him. “Have you eaten?” he asked.

“I don't have much of an appetite,” she replied. “If you don't eat it it will probably go to waste.”

“If you're sure,” he said, bringing it to the table. He used his elbow to push the box farther down to the other end of the table and sat down. Then he gestured to the florist's box. “Getting these must be a shock.”

“I don't think I'll ever look at one of those types of boxes the same way ever again,” she said, moving towards the kitchen. “Hopefully I can look at roses again after all of this.”

“If Sherlock ever buys you flowers I think he'll be smart enough to get you something other than roses,” he said, picking up the sandwich she'd made. He took a bite. “I was actually surprised he kissed you a moment ago. I didn't think he'd actually do that.”

“We've done that quite a bit the last few days,” she said with a slight smile. “I think he just had to get comfortable with the idea, and part of it might have been he knew it would make me happy.”

“How did you manage to get him to do that?” he asked.

“I presented it as an experiment. Just being close to him and seeing what he felt comfortable with and what he didn't. He was the one who initiated the kiss, though. I just wanted to see how close he would let me get.” She went to the cupboard and got a glass down before going to the refrigerator and getting some juice. “I think while he doesn't totally loathe being close to me he's still unsure of how close I'll let him get.”

“I could see that,” John said as she came over to the table and sat down. “But it's definitely the closest I've ever really seen him get to anyone. He trusts you a lot.”

“Yes, he does. And I don't ever want to betray that trust, willingly or unwillingly.”

“Even after this is all over, he'll still have enemies,” John said as he ate some more. “There are going to be people who want nothing more than to see him hurt, and they'll use you to do it. Or they'll try to, at any rate.”

“I know,” she said quietly. “But I can try very hard to keep that from becoming a reality. I care about him very much and I don't want to hurt him.”

“I just hope you don't. Because if you did it willingly I don't think he'd ever forgive you. And frankly I wouldn't either.” He looked at her intently. “He deserves to be treated well, and I think you'll do your absolute best to do that, but if you hurt him I will find a way to make your life miserable.”

“So noted,” she said.

“If it makes you feel any better, I said the exact same thing to him yesterday,” John said with a small smile. “You deserve to be treated well, too.”

“You really didn't need to do that, but I thank you anyway,” she said with a smile of her own.

“Anyway, we're going to have some time to kill while he does what he needs to do regarding Greg, and then we'll probably be alone even longer once he starts working on figuring out all the clues from the latest gift,” he said. “Anything in particular you'd like to do to get your mind off things?”

“I was going to clean,” she said. “Cleaning is something I can do where I don't have to think so much. And yesterday Mrs. Hudson said I could rearrange things in the sitting room. Sherlock was going to help me do that today.”

“Well, I can definitely help with both of those things,” he said as his grin widened. “Let me finish eating this and then we can get to work. Should we do the cleaning or rearranging first?”

“Cleaning, definitely. Then we won't get dust and grime on our clothing.” She took a sip of her drink. “Thank you, John.”

“You're quite welcome,” he said before going back to his meal. She watched him eat, letting her mind wander slightly. She hoped this would all get taken care of soon, because she was starting to get worried that something horrific was going to happen the longer this game went on, and she didn't want that at all. The sooner it ended the happier she would be.


	10. Chapter 10

It was early in the morning three days after Lestrade got shot when someone knocked on her bedroom door while she was reading a book, thanks to being unable to sleep well the night before. She'd been having a lot of trouble sleeping since that day, and was having nightmares that made her bolt upright in bed. She hated it and hoped they would stop soon but she doubted they would. She saved her place and set her book down on the nightstand nearest her before going to the door. She opened it and saw Sherlock standing there. “I called Lestrade this morning. He'd like visitors today. I thought you would like to see for yourself how he's doing.”

“I would love that,” she said with a warm smile.

Sherlock nodded. “Then we can go see him as soon as you're ready.”

“It won't take me more than a few minutes,” she replied. “I just need to change out of my pyjamas and into some actual clothing.” Then she paused. “How come you're dressed already? It's only...” She looked at her watch. “Eight sixteen.”

“I met with my brother at his home two hours ago,” he said. “It was the only time he was available today. He's concerned about this newest development and I went over everything I knew. He gave me more information on what Scotland Yard had learned as well, so I can begin to see if things make sense.”

“Did anything help?” she asked.

He nodded. “Because a policeman was the victim the Yard has rushed all of the results. The stain on the windowsill is an exact match to the lubricant stain on the box that held the second gift. M is a sniper, which will make narrowing down the pool of suspects easier.”

“So you do actually have suspects?” she asked, slightly surprised.

“There were members of the organization who are expert marksmen. I assumed none of them were in the upper echelon like the person I couldn't track down, but I think I was mistaken. If I can figure out if any of them would have enough power to keep the organization running and whether any of them are in London it would help, unless it's Moran.” He caught the confused look on Molly's face. “Moran is the premiere assassin of the organization. His name is said in reverent whisper when he's talked about. No one knows what he looks like, though. It's as though he's a ghost.”

“The M could be short for Moran,” she said.

“It could. It could also be short for Moriarty, if the man who died on the roof wasn't actually James Moriarty,” he said as he leaned against the door jamb. “As it stands, though, I am starting to seriously consider that Moran has more power than I thought. He might be the person I couldn't take down, which makes quite a bit of sense if that was Moriarty's plan: pick someone to head up the organization in your place who no one knows what he looks like so he can pretend to be you when you're gone. But that's only if that was really Moriarty who forced me to fall off the roof.”

“I really do think it was,” she said. “I mean, you said that you figured out that Moriarty killed that boy at the pool all those years ago, and that was how he became associated with you. I think he would be deranged enough to kill himself to make you dance to his tune, which you would have done if you'd jumped and died. He would have died knowing he was victorious. But I think even though he was deranged he was smart enough to have a back-up plan.”

“That is true,” he conceded. “But whoever is enacting this back-up plan is incompetent. It would have been one thing to simply leave the stain on the box. That was sloppy but left no real clues. But the fact that the chemical make-up of the lubricant is exactly the same _and_ they're both handmade tells me quite a bit. It at least narrows down who M can be.”

“Well, I hope he isn't Moran,” she said. “I don't like the idea of being hunted by someone who's more or less a ghost. It's bad enough knowing someone means to do me harm. It's worse if it could be anyone.”

“I know,” he said. He was quiet for a moment after that. “I'll leave you to get dressed now.”

“Can we stop off at a florist first?” she asked. “I want to get him some flowers. Not roses, but something nice.”

“You'll never look at roses the same way again, will you?” he asked after a slight pause.

“I don't know. Possibly. But there are other types of flowers I like that aren't roses.”

“Such as?” he asked.

“I like lilies and orchids and amaryllises, and I like sunflowers when I can find them. I'm also fond of tulips and magnolias,” she said with a smile.

“I'll remember that,” he said with a nod. “And I'm assuming you'd want them in a vase?”

“Yes. No florist's boxes for me. I'll be quite happy if I never see another one of those again.” She paused. “Have you thought about seeing where M got them from? The boxes? Because weren't they all the exact same box?”

He nodded. “They were. And I hadn't thought of that, but I should have. There were no other types of flowers in the boxes, so he must have ordered the roses we received and then cut the buds off the stems wherever it was he put the gifts together at. And I imagine long stemmed black roses would be much harder to get. I can start by asking the closest florist for information.” He gave her a small grin. “I think you might have led me to a lead I can actually follow.”

“Then I'm glad I could help,” she said with a wider grin than before.

“I'll leave you to get dressed now,” he said, moving out of her doorway. Then he turned and left, and she shut the door behind him. She went to her clothing that was hanging up and picked out something to wear. Before she went to the sitting room she went into the washroom and quickly brushed her hair and pulled it into a high ponytail. She debated doing her makeup quickly but decided against it. It wasn't as though she was trying to impress anyone. She left the washroom and made her way out to the sitting room, seeing Sherlock sitting in a chair, looking at his phone. She cleared her throat to get his attention and he looked up. “Are you ready?”

She nodded. “I am. Is he still at the hospital?”

“No,” he replied, shaking his head. “They kept him a few days but released him yesterday evening. They think the damage is minimal, so they decided he didn't need to stay any longer. He's been told to move about as little as possible, though, and he seemed annoyed by that.” He paused. “Or he could have been annoyed I had called him so early this morning. I'm not quite sure.”

“Possibly both,” she said with a soft chuckle. “What were you looking at on your mobile?”

“The nearest florist that would sell long stemmed black roses,” he said. “There are very few who carry them in the city where they don't have to special order them, so after you've seen Lestrade I thought we could visit the shops that carry them and see the boxes they come in. And if none of them have the matching boxes we'll expand our search to other florist shops to see if M was idiotic enough to use a credit card to order them. As I have discovered, very few of the shops will special order them without one.”

“Hopefully we can find the right one,” she said. “Anyway, all I have to do is put on my coat and I'm ready.”

“Then let's be off.” He stood up and stowed his phone in his pocket, and they made their way to where the coat rack was. They each took their coats and put them on before leaving. It was a very brisk day and Molly wrapped her coat tighter around herself as Sherlock hailed them a cab. They got in and Sherlock gave him the address of a florist who wasn't too far away from Baker Street. They both stayed quiet during the ride, and when they got to the florist shop Sherlock paid the driver and they got out. “I can cover the cost of the flowers, if you would like,” he said to her before they entered the shop.

“It's all right. Mycroft has had money deposited into my current account every time I would get my pay,” she said. “I'm getting more than my pay, actually. So I have money to cover this.”

“At least he's making sure you're taken care of,” he said with a nod as he opened the door to the florist's shop. They stepped inside and he saw two salespeople. “Hopefully they can each help one of us.”

“Hopefully,” she said with a nod. One of the two salespeople spotted them and came over, and once they realized they had two different needs the one who came over began to work with Molly to get a bouquet set up for Lestrade. That took longer than Sherlock's business, and in the end Molly had a bouquet of tiger lilies and red tulips in a simple vase. She paid for her purchase and they exited the shop, not speaking until they were inside another cab. “What did you find out?” she asked Sherlock once they were settled.

“There are three florists in town who sell long stemmed black roses without special ordering them, and one that allows special ordering with a cash payment up front,” he said. “The florist said the boxes we received sound as though they came from that particular florist.”

“So it's a dead end,” she said glumly.

“Perhaps not. Even without special ordering they don't always have them on hand at this time of year, though, and supposedly a cash payment still requires identification so they know who to set it aside for if they aren't having it delivered. If he was going to add more to it then chances are he picked it up himself, and if he didn't he might have had them delivered to the place he makes these gifts. So there are other possible leads.”

“Hopefully this lead will work out then,” she said.

“Hopefully. There is always the chance he used false identification, or did as he did with the latest delivery and got one of the homeless population to do it for him,” he replied. “If that's the case, though, I can put word out to my homeless network to keep an eye out for people making requests like that. I already asked a few of them to alert me for information regarding the delivery of the third gift. Mycroft said the person who delivered it was of no real use. He had been on drugs when he delivered the package and hadn't been paying attention to the person who asked him to do it.”

“I had hoped he could give information on who told him to do it,” she said.

“When someone is strung out on drugs all that matters is the next fix. You'll do whatever it takes to make that happen,” he said quietly.

She was silent for a moment. She had a question but she wasn't sure he would answer it. But she was quite curious so she decided to ask anyway. “Were you that way, when you were...?”

He nodded. “I was. It was a rather dark time. I did things I regretted in order to get my next fix. Nothing too horrible, but I hurt people and did things I shouldn't have, and I actually felt bad about some of it.”

“Ah,” she said with a nod. “But not all of it?”

“No, not all of it.” He was quiet for a minute after that. “I'd like to change the topic, if that's all right.”

She nodded. “That's fine.”

“When we're done with visiting Lestrade we'll go to the florist shop that might have the boxes we're looking for first and see if they do, and if they don't we'll go to the other ones.”

“Where is the shop located?” she asked.

“Near Scotland Yard,” he replied. “So close to Lestrade's home, but not too close. Hopefully this lead will pan out. I need something to work in my favour in all of this.”

“If it does, what will you do?”

“I'll alert Lestrade, because it affects him, and then I'll alert my brother and have him tell the appropriate people in Scotland Yard,” he said.

“Will the fact you've been the one going through the boxes make it hard to prosecute whoever is doing this?” she asked.

“The main point of prosecution is going to be about shooting Lestrade. Though I got the feeling when I told my brother my thoughts that it might be Moran who shot Lestrade that if he is caught and tried he will not survive long in the prison. He would be too much of a threat.”

She was quiet for a few moments. “That should upset me more than it does, I think,” she said finally.

He hesitated a moment, then reached over for her hand that was closest to him. “I'm sorry it doesn't,” he said quietly.

“Thank you,” she said, squeezing it. She lapsed into silence and he followed suit, but she didn't let go of his hand until they arrived at Lestrade's apartment complex. They got out after Sherlock paid the driver and made their way up. Sherlock led the way to an apartment on the fourth floor and then knocked on the door. It took a few minutes, but finally Lestrade opened the door. He was in a jumper and loose pants and he was leaning on a cane, but he had a smile on his face. “Hello, Greg,” she said with a smile of her own.

“Good to see you, Molly,” he replied, moving slightly so they could come in.

She leaned over and kissed his cheek before lifting up the flowers. “I got these for you, to brighten up the place.”

“Those are very nice,” he said. “Much nicer than the rest of the flowers I'd gotten. Lots of roses, unfortunately. Can't help that they're the easiest thing to buy. I left most of them at the hospital to go to other patients. It still feels as though I've got too many vases, though.”

“It's better than the boxes,” she said.

“Yes, it is,” he replied with a nod. “I think I'd like those on the table in front of the sofa instead of in the kitchen and dining room with the others. They're a much nicer display.”

“All right,” she said with a nod as she went more into his sitting room. Sherlock followed her, and Lestrade locked up behind them. When he joined them they got settled, her and Lestrade on the sofa and Sherlock in a chair facing them. She turned to Lestrade. “How are you?”

“I've been better, to be honest, but I'm quite lucky. I might have a few lingering problems, but nothing that will keep me from going back to my duties soon enough,” he said. “Which will be nice because I'm already going stir crazy.”

“I have information on the perpetrator of the crime,” Sherlock said. “The sniper is M, the person who has been sending Molly and I the gifts. I was informed the lubricant stain at the scene where he shot you has the exact same chemical makeup as the stain on the box.”

“Well, I'd assumed that much,” Lestrade said, leaning back in his seat. “No one else would have the need to shoot me like that. I don't have that many enemies of my own.”

“It leads me to believe that the person who shot you is Moran,” he replied. “Moran is an assassin whose primary method of execution was killing from a distance. He hasn't killed for a few years now, however, or at least as far as I can tell. The general notion is that once Moran has you as a target you're dead because Moran always kills his targets. If he is indeed the person who shot you, you are the first exception.”

“I've heard of Moran before,” Lestrade said, his eyes widening slightly. “There was a man who was arrested who begged us to keep him in jail. Said Moran was after him. He told us a lot of information about an unsolved crime. But he was killed on his way to prison. Sniper's bullet.”

“That sounds like the way he operates,” Sherlock said with a nod.

“Blimey,” he replied. “Pardon the very bad analogy, but I dodged a bullet.”

“I think if it had been a sterner warning you would be dead,” Sherlock said matter-of-factly. “As it stands, I'm not entirely sure it's Moran. I've been digging into the list I have of snipers who are capable of doing what was done, on the off chance that M shared the formula for his gun cleaning supplies with others in the organization. So far most of them are currently elsewhere in the world, but I'm not done with the list yet.”

“Is your brother helping with that?” Lestrade asked. Sherlock nodded. “Good. Right now I think the fewer people we trust with all of this the better.”

“So you won't be telling Jarrod either?” Molly asked.

Lestrade shook his head. “I trust him with my life, but other than the public aftermath of Moriarty's game and everything Sherlock and his brother gave Scotland Yard to prove Sherlock's innocence he doesn't know anything specific about Moriarty and what he was about. I don't want to involve him any more than he already is, in case M gets any more ideas. He's got so much more to lose than I do.”

“It would be very bad if the world were to lose you, though,” Sherlock said.

“Thanks for the sentiment, Sherlock, but he's got a fiancée and an infant at home. If anything happens to him that would be worse than me being killed.” He looked over at Molly and gave her a reassuring look. “I still don't think I'm going to die, though. I think M proved his point with temporarily crippling me.”

“For now,” Sherlock said quietly. “As it stands, there was a fingerprint on one of the roses that was left in some powder on the petal. I can't have it processed, though, because you are not at Scotland Yard at the moment.”

Lestrade thought for a moment. “Do you get the feeling it was planted there?”

Sherlock nodded. “I do. And I think it was planted there because M knew by injuring you to that degree I would be unable to use you to process the evidence because I wouldn't trust anyone else to do it.”

“And I'll be out for at least six weeks,” Lestrade said with a sigh. “Can the evidence wait that long?”

“I did have a fingerprint kit at home. I lifted the fingerprint off the petal.”

“I'll see if I can get special permission to have it run for you, but right now my superiors want me to have absolutely nothing to do with any open cases, and they certainly don't want me to work on an off the books case,” he said. “I'm supposed to be doing nothing but recuperating.”

“The sooner you can find a way for me to have the fingerprint analyzed the better,” Sherlock replied.

“Why can't Mycroft pull strings?” Molly asked.

“Because Mycroft bullied Scotland Yard into clearing my name, and the people in charge resent him for it. He made them look foolish,” Sherlock said. “The only reason he knew about the stain matching is he has someone passing him information since M's gifts are the reason Lestrade was injured. He can get information but he can't throw his weight around. And as I said earlier, I wouldn't trust anyone without Lestrade vetting them first.”

“Gabriela is trustworthy,” Lestrade said. “But she's also by the book. The only reason she ran the stain on the box through analysis was because my superiors approved it. I don't see her doing that again for you without approval, even if I asked.”

“Whenever you are able to return, she is the one I would like to have process the evidence,” he said. Then he paused. “Scotland Yard seems to be ignoring the danger M poses. I noticed you had no one here keeping you safe.”

“Well, I think they think I can take care of myself. Which I can, to an extent. But I think there's more to it,” Lestrade said.

“Oh?” Molly asked.

“I think they know that my injury has to do with the off the books case that I'm working. Sherlock and Mycroft haven't let Scotland Yard officially work the case, so there are those higher up than me who think I deserved to be shot for my involvement.”

“That's horrible!” Molly said, shocked. “No one _deserves_ to be shot.”

“It's a bit different when you're a member of the police force,” he said with a shrug. “As it stands, there are a few other policemen who live in this complex who said they'd keep an eye out for any strange people. Plus they and other people in the complex are pushing for a doorman here, and they just might get it.”

“That's good,” Molly said.

“But also ineffectual for the current threat,” Sherlock pointed out.

“I know that, but it would make my neighbours feel better,” Lestrade replied. He looked over at them. “I'm probably keeping you two from running down leads to find out who's doing this. You should get going, I think.”

“Is that a hint you want peace and quiet?” Molly asked with a small smile.

“A bit, yeah,” Lestrade said with an answering grin. “But it's also true. I know I'd feel much better if this M character was off the streets, locked up somewhere. Or better yet, in the ground.”

“But you...” Molly said, her eyes wide.

“If M is really Moran there's always the chance he'll slip between our fingers,” Lestrade said. “If he's dead I'll feel safer.”

“I would too,” Sherlock said. “But I won't outright murder him.”

“No, you'll just let your brother do it,” Molly said quietly.

“Molly, Moran is more or less a ghost,” Sherlock said. “If it is Moran and we do catch him he'll find a way to escape punishment, just as Moriarty did. The only way any of us will be truly safe is if he's dead. Even you have to admit that.”

Molly was quiet in response. She understood the logical reasons everyone thought that, and while she could see their point the idea of murdering someone made her feel ill. But even she had to admit she'd feel safer if she knew he would never come after her again. “I suppose,” she said finally.

“I know you hate admitting that,” Lestrade said. “I'm sorry it's come to that point.”

“I know,” she said with a sigh. “I hate this whole situation. I mean, aside from the good part that came out of it.”

“I think the good part is very good,” Lestrade said with a warm smile. “You and Sherlock seem to be happy with each other.”

“I think we're a good fit,” Sherlock said with a nod. “Or at least I hope we are.”

“We are,” Molly said, giving him a reassuring smile. “I think that's the only good to come out of all of this, though. Everything else is such a mess.”

“Hopefully soon it will be over,” Lestrade said. Then he stood and reached for his cane. “Let me let the two of you get back to business, then.”

“All right,” Sherlock said with a nod as he and Molly stood as well. They made their way to the door and Molly embraced Lestrade for a moment. When she pulled away Sherlock spoke again. “I'll call you with any updates. See if you can find a way to get the fingerprint analyzed.”

“I will,” Lestrade said. “You both take care. And Sherlock?”

“Yes?” he said as he opened the door.

“You keep her safe. I'll be quite cross if something happens to Molly.”

“I promise I will,” Sherlock said. He stepped outside and Molly followed, giving Lestrade a wave. They began to walk down the hallway as Lestrade shut the door behind him. Sherlock spoke only when they got to the lift. “I am sorry, you know.”

“I know,” she said, reaching over for his hand. He responded by threading his fingers between hers. “I just _really_ hate it's gotten to that point. I mean, I know Moran has done horrible things, but it seems so...”

“Cold blooded?” Sherlock said.

She nodded. “Yeah.”

“It is, but that's because it has to be,” he said. “Moran won't stop any other way. We'd always be in danger.” The lift doors opened and they stepped inside, still holding hands, and as the doors closed Sherlock pulled her closer to him. He let go of her hand and put his hands on her waist. “I will do whatever it takes to keep you safe,” he murmured.

“I just wish it didn't have to be that way,” she replied.

“I know.” She wrapped her arms around him and he held her close until the lift got to the ground floor. Then he let her go as the doors opened and they made their way out of the building. It had started to rain while they were visiting Lestrade so Molly pulled her jacket over her head in an effort to stay dry as Sherlock got them a cab. Once one pulled over and they got in she looked over at him, giving him a quizzical look. “What is it?” he asked.

“You didn't bother to try and keep dry,” she said.

“I'm used to rain and snow and intense heat and humidity now,” he said with a shrug.

“From all the traveling you had to do?” she asked.

He nodded. “I went all over the world to take care of the threat.”

“Were there any places you went to you'd like to go back to someday?” she asked.

He thought for a moment. “Rome was quite interesting, as was Sicily. I found New York to be a place I wouldn't mind spending time in again. And I suppose New Orleans wasn't that bad either. The only place I really did any exploring, though, was Athens. I had time before I could do anything, and I'll admit the ruins intrigued me.”

“I'd love to go to any of those places,” she said. “The only place I've ever been outside of England is Scotland, and that was to visit distant relatives in a small village.”

He was quiet for a few moments, studying her. “Perhaps when this is over, if we're still in a relationship, we can go to other places you would like to see,” he said.

“I would love to,” she said with a wide smile.

“Then we can plan on that,” he said with a nod. He settled into his seat. “If this lead is successful I may go follow it up on my own. John should be awake by the time we're finished. I'll take you home and then go back out to see what I can find out.”

“I can go with you, you know,” she said.

“I suppose you could, but with the rain and no umbrella I thought you would prefer to stay indoors,” he said.

“Oh,” she said. “I suppose you're right. That might be a good idea. But promise you'll call me if you learn anything, all right?”

“I will call you the minute I get any leads,” he said, nodding before looking away towards the window. “Aside from the danger you're in, are you happy?”

“I am, more or less,” she said. “I'm happy to be near my friends, and I'm happy to be dating you, even if we haven't done much as a couple.”

“Oh,” he said, looking down.

Her eyes widened slightly as she got the inadvertent second meaning of what she had said. “I just meant dates, Sherlock. Not anything more than that. I mean, eventually, maybe. If you're comfortable with the idea. But not _now_.”

“You shouldn't have to remain celibate to stay in a relationship with me,” he said.

She blushed slightly. “But if you aren't comfortable then that's fine,” she said, lowering her voice. “I mean, that's not what all relationships are about.”

“I might become comfortable with the idea,” he said, turning towards her. “It would just take time, I think. And staying close to you when I have the chance. It isn't something I find altogether loathsome, at the very least.”

“How close do you want to stay?” she asked.

“I'm not suggesting we go so far as to share a bed right now, but perhaps spending more time on the sofa watching films to start with. And I do actually like kissing you.”

“I like kissing you too,” she said with a smile. “Had you kissed anyone before you kissed me?”

He shook his head. “No, I hadn't.”

“Then you're quite the natural,” she replied. She moved her hand closer to his. “I'm glad you let me stay close to you. I like it when we're close.”

He reached over for it. “I'm surprised sometimes that I do, but I realized something while I was gone.”

“Oh?” she asked. “What was it you realized?”

“I would spend the rest of my life alone if I didn't make changes to how I was,” he said, playing with her fingers slightly. “I hadn't been quite ready to admit how I felt towards you until I was forced to, and even then I was worried you would reject me. But you didn't, and now I have hope that at least for a while I won't be alone.”

“I would like to be around for a long time, if you're willing,” she said.

“That would please me very much,” he said with a nod.

“Then that's what we'll plan on.” She gave him a wider smile and she saw him relax. No matter what else happened with the problem at hand she would make sure that this relationship between the two of them stayed as strong as it could, because she didn't want to hurt him just as much as she didn't want to be hurt herself. Hopefully things would work out for them.


	11. Chapter 11

Sadly they had gotten no leads from the florist shop. They had figured out which shop the black roses had come from, but it had been the one where you could pay cash for them. They had not sold any white or red roses in the boxes to the same man so Sherlock knew he was using members of the homeless population to procure the roses. Sherlock put word out to the members of his homeless network and then went back to figuring out which sniper in Moriarty's organization could have shot Lestrade. Within two weeks the leads began to dry up, however, and by a week after that there was absolutely nothing to go on at all. Molly could see Sherlock was getting more and more frustrated the longer it went that he couldn't move forward in his investigation. He was becoming short with everyone in the home at Baker Street and she was starting to lose her patience. Finally she'd decided she'd had enough. She practically shoved him down onto the sofa and glared at him as she crossed her arms. “Stop it,” she said.

“Stop what?” he said with a petulant pout. Oh, he was really going to try her patience today, she could tell.

“Stop growling and snapping at us. Stop acting like a child every time something doesn't work out. Stop being an absolute beast to live with. Just _stop_.”

He fixed her with an intense glare. “I didn't realize my behaviour was bothering you so much,” he said coldly.

“Don't you _dare_ start a fight with me over this,” she said. “John and Mrs. Hudson might be used to this kind of behaviour but I'm not, and since we have to share this home I'm going to insist on being treated better or by _God_ I'll give as good as I get.”

Whatever clever retort he was going to say died on his lips as he looked at her in shock. “What?” he asked, his tone one of complete surprise.

“I will treat you just as badly as you're treating me, Sherlock,” she said, glaring down at him. “And if it comes to that point you might as well consider our relationship finished because I won't be willing to wait until this passes to give you a second chance. I'm patient and understanding but I can only be pushed so far.”

“You would actually do that?” he asked quietly.

“Yes, Sherlock, I would.” Her glare softened slightly as she sat next to him. “I want this to work. Not just our relationship but this living arrangement, temporary as it is. We all have to be here until the threat goes away and I don't want to be miserable while I'm here. And I'm fairly sure no one else, including you, wants to be miserable either.”

He was quiet long enough that she thought he was going to get angry again. But then he sighed and ran a hand down his face. “I'm sorry,” he said when he finally spoke. “I really didn't realize I was acting that horribly towards you. I suppose everyone feels that way?”

“Yes,” she said as she nodded. “I think they're used to it from before, though. But I'm not, or at least not this much. I only dealt with you when you're like that in small doses. Experiencing it on a daily basis for most of the day is incredibly draining and frustrating.”

“I'll work harder at not being that way,” he said.

“Good.” She gave him a smile at that point and got a slight grin in return. “So now that that's settled, what are your plans for the day?”

“Find out if my brother has made any progress on seeing if there's a way any of the assassins could have slipped into the country to shoot Lestrade, I suppose,” he said, leaning back into the sofa. “After that I'm not sure.” Then he looked over at her. “Is there anything you would like to do for the day?”

“I would like to go somewhere with you and do something not related to all of this,” she said, reaching over for his hand. “Just be somewhere that isn't here, doing something a couple would do.”

“I could agree to that,” he said with a nod. “What would you--” He got cut off by the sound of his mobile ringing. He pulled it out of his pocket and frowned. “It's Mycroft.”

“That's never good,” she said, frowning.

He answered the phone and apparently Mycroft began speaking the minute he answered because Sherlock didn't say anything for a few minutes. Then he looked over at her and mouthed something she didn't understand. Finally he spoke. “I'll tell her,” he said before finally hanging up.

“You'll tell me what?” she asked.

“The trial you were supposed to testify at tomorrow has been postponed because someone reported to Scotland Yard that there would be a shooting if your trial took place. The implication was you were the target.”

Her eyes widened. “Oh my God. That's horrible.”

“Mycroft thinks it's a ploy to keep you and I here, though,” he said. “And I agree. Mycroft is arranging for you and I to stay in one safe house and John and Mrs. Hudson to stay in another, in case the threat extends to all the residents of this home.”

“When are we leaving?” she asked.

“Within an hour. Because of the implied threat that other people would be harmed Mycroft is making sure Scotland Yard processes the evidence I collected off the last gift. He's treating it as a matter of national security and making sure they look at it the same way.”

“I'll start gathering my things, then,” she said. “Do you know where we're going?”

He shook his head. “No. All I know is it's far away from here.”

“How are you going to work on figuring out who's behind all this?” she asked curiously.

“We just have to leave it in Scotland Yard's hands, unfortunately,” he said, standing up. “Bring enough clothing to be there for some time. Even with this being given their highest priority it may still take time.” Then he paused. “Leave your mobile here. It's too dangerous to take it with us.”

“All right,” she said with a nod. She stood up as well, heading towards her bedroom as Sherlock went to tell Mrs. Hudson. She pulled out her luggage again and began packing as quickly as she could. The only non-clothing item she took was her jewelry box. She was fairly sure Mycroft would have made sure it was safe but she wanted it close. When she was done she took the luggage to the sitting room and waited for Sherlock. He came in ten minutes later carrying two bags. “Is that going to be enough clothing for you?” she asked.

“It's mostly the clothing I brought with me to your home and more I bought later,” he said. “Just in case I needed it.”

Her eyes widened a moment later as she got his implied meaning. “You thought something like this might happen.”

He nodded. “Even with the safeguards here it was a possibility that we wouldn't be safe enough.”

“How is Mrs. Hudson taking things?” she asked, looking up at him.

“Well enough. John is coming back from the clinic as we speak. He's taking it less well.”

“What about Greg? Is he going to be safe too?”

“He'll be going with them,” he replied. “Since John is a medical doctor that was deemed the best course of action.”

She nodded. “That makes sense.” Then she paused. “Who's collecting us?”

“Mycroft. Anthea is coming later for the others.” He moved closer to where she was sitting. “He should be here within moments. Right now keeping the two of us safe is his primary concern.”

“Well, I'm ready to leave when he gets here,” she said.

He nodded, then set his bags down next to her chair. “I had hoped it wouldn't come down to this,” he said. “I had hoped it would be safe enough here.”

“It's all right,” she said, reaching over for his hand and squeezing once he grasped it. “To be honest it's probably what should have been done from the start.”

“Perhaps,” he conceded. “Mycroft has a key so as soon as he comes in we'll leave.” They both settled in to wait and it was perhaps fifteen minutes later that the door opened. Both she and Sherlock tensed and he let go of her hand, edging over to the doorway. Then he relaxed. “It's Mycroft.”

“You're both ready?” Mycroft asked as he came into the sitting room.

“Yes,” Sherlock said with a nod.

“Are you armed?” Mycroft asked and Sherlock gave him another nod. “Good. You are to take the car I came in and follow the coordinates programmed into the GPS. You will be driving to Manchester. Stop only if you absolutely must. The safe house is fully stocked, and if you need anything else call me and I will make sure it is delivered. No one will disturb you for the duration of your stay. Do not leave the property.” Then he paused. “On second thought, it might be best if you don't leave the home. When you arrive and are settled call me. I shouldn't have to tell you to tell absolutely no one where you are.”

“Those last instructions are quite unnecessary,” Sherlock replied, rolling his eyes. “We aren't idiots.”

“Still.” He looked at Molly for a moment. “I will personally make sure that no harm comes to your cat. If you can get him into a carrier I will take him to my home until you're able to return.”

“Thank you,” she said with a nod.

Then Mycroft turned back to Sherlock. “There is a second gun in the glove compartment. That one is your preferred model. I suggest you show Molly how to use it, just in case. The residence is isolated enough that no one would be bothered if you practiced outside. But only leave the home to do that.”

Sherlock nodded. “Help me get these things in the car while Molly gets Toby.”

“All right,” Mycroft said. He took Molly's carry-on and largest suitcase while Sherlock took his own bags. She went into her bedroom and pulled the collapsed carrier out from underneath the bed. It took her a few minutes, but she managed to coax Toby into his carrier and then she took it out to the sitting room. She grabbed the handle of her smaller suitcase and left the home to go out to the waiting car. Sherlock took it from her before Molly went to sit in the passenger side seat. Once it was stowed Sherlock got into the driver's side seat. Mycroft tapped on the window and Sherlock lowered it. “Be safe, both of you.”

“We will,” he said. He rolled up the window as Mycroft stepped away from the car. Then he put the key in the ignition and started the car before glancing at the GPS. “We're in for a long drive. Thankfully it's not too late in the day. It should still be light when we arrive.”

“How long will it take?” she asked.

“Roughly three and a half hours.”

Molly nodded. “I'll let you concentrate on driving, then.”

“Thank you.” He pulled away from the curb and merged into traffic. Molly looked out the window, watching the city go by. She got the sinking suspicion that it might be a long time until she got to come back to London. Soon enough the city was behind them but she stayed quiet as they drove. Eventually they made it to Manchester, and finally to the safe house. It was a two bedroom home at the edge of Rochdale. It was a fairly decent sized place, larger than her own home, and it appeared comfortable, though her first impression was that it would not be as comfortable as her own home or as much as the home at Baker Street had come to be.

They had brought in their belongings and put them in the rooms they decided to use. Sherlock had suggested having something to eat but she didn't have much of an appetite, so Sherlock made himself a meal as she stayed in the sitting room. There was a television there and bookcases full of different genres of books. She was picking random ones out and glancing at the covers while reading the backs of the interesting ones. She heard Sherlock come into the room but she didn't turn around. “There are a wide variety of books,” she said.

“Have you found anything that interests you?” he asked from behind her.

“A few things,” she said, gesturing to a small stack of books in front of the books still on the shelf. She pulled out a book by Amanda Quick and after she read the back of the book she set it on the pile. “Is the kitchen satisfactory?”

“Yes,” he said.

She turned to look at him. “It's going to be strange to be here without everyone else. I've gotten quite used to John and Mrs. Hudson being there.”

“It will make it easier for you when you go home, though, if it's just me with you,” he said quietly.

“I suppose,” she said, turning back to the bookshelf and picking up another book. This one was by David Eddings and it appeared to be part of a series of his she hadn't read yet, but since it was the second part and she hadn't seen the first one she put it back. “To be honest I've rather liked having the company. I've liked being around people and not being so solitary.”

“But you have friends,” he said, moving closer to her.

“I saw Greg maybe one or two times a week, if his schedule permitted,” she said after a moment. “Jarrod and Sally I saw maybe once every other week, and generally at the same time I saw Greg. John and Mrs. Hudson less than that. And among the people at the hospital I have a handful of acquaintances, none of whom have bothered to talk to me since this all started. So really, I've had a rather solitary life since you left.”

“You do have me now, though,” he pointed out. 

“I do, and that makes me quite happy,” she said, turning to him again and giving him a smile. “I never thought in a million years you would fancy me, Other than all of this business and the difficulty living with you the last week or so I've been very happy with things.”

“I suppose with the investigation being out of my hands it will be easier to live with me,” he mused. “Or at the very least I hope it is.”

“Think of this as an extended vacation,” she said. “That's how I'm viewing it.”

“I suppose I could look at it that way,” he said thoughtfully. He stayed quiet after that and she turned back to the bookshelf again. He spoke a few minutes after that. “I was going to ask you to stay,” he said.

“Pardon?” she asked, looking at him with surprise on her face.

“When this was all over I was going to suggest you not go back home,” He stepped closer to her. “I've grown to like the idea of actually sharing a residence with you.”

“So you don't want me to go home?” she asked, giving him all her attention.

He nodded. “No, I don't. I know I haven't been pleasant the last week or so, but you being there has been something that helped, I suppose. I know I'm normally much worse. And I know that the home at Baker Street is my home, not yours, but I had hoped that it could be a place you'd consider living after this was over.”

“That's a bit fast, though,” she pointed out. “I mean, granted, we have been living together for the last few months, but we haven't been dating the entire time.”

He hung his head slightly. “I'm doing this all wrong. I shouldn't have told you that I wanted you to stay.”

She hesitated a moment, then moved as close as she could, cupping his cheek with her hand. He looked up at her intently. “Let's see how we do when all of this is finished, all right? It could be days or it could be weeks that we're here. If we don't want to kill each other by the time we get home then I'll consider it. Because even though it seems fast I've gotten quite used to having you close. But I want you to also consider living with me at my home, if we decide to continue to reside in the same place. There are pros and cons to both places.”

He nodded slowly. “All right,” he said. Then he moved his hands to pull her closer. “We haven't been particularly close this last week.”

“Well, you were not being all that pleasant of a person,” she said with a smile. “I was avoiding you.”

“I would like to begin to make that up to you,” he said.

“I will have to consider just how I want you to make it up to me,” she said with a chuckle. “But you can start by giving me a very nice kiss.”

“I don't have a problem with doing that,” he said before leaning in. Their lips were just about to meet when his mobile rang. He groaned as he let her go. “If this is my brother again I may kill him.”

“Answer it. I'm not going anywhere,” she said, stepping away from him and turning her attention back to the books. He pulled his mobile out of his pocket and answered it, moving away from her to have his conversation. After a moment she gathered it was John who was calling. Sherlock talked with him for about five minutes before he hung up. “Well?” she asked.

“They're in Leeds,” he said. “John has already decided that he prefers living with Greg than me. Says he's much more considerate. I told him it's only been a few hours and he should at least give it a few days.”

Molly laughed. “Well, if it makes you feel better, I prefer living with you. Not that I don't like John, but the time when it was just the two of us was rather nice. It was only this last week or so I regretted meeting you.”

“I don't want it to get to that point again,” he said in a more serious tone.

“I think you'll work doubly hard to make sure it doesn't,” she said. She nodded towards the stack of books she'd selected. “Let me take these to my room and then we can see what we feel like doing for the rest of the evening.”

“All right,” he said with a nod. She went over and picked up the stack of books and carried them to her room. She set them on the nightstand and then opened the jewelry box, which was next to the books. She opened it and looked over at the jewelry, occasionally picking up a piece and fingering it. She didn't realize it had been more than a few minutes when she heard a knock at the door. “Are you all right?” he asked.

She nodded, setting the ring she'd had in her hand down. “I am. I was just reliving some memories, that's all.”

“That jewelry is important to you,” he said, coming into the room more.

“Yes. It's all jewelry handed down through my family,” she said. She picked the ring she'd just set down back up again, showing it to him. It was a large square cut ruby ring with two smaller square cut diamonds accenting it. “This was the engagement ring that my grandmother gave to my father to propose to my mother with. It had been hers first. My grandfather said she lit a fire in him and that was why it was a ruby ring, to show that fire.”

He took it from her palm and examined it. “Does it fit you?” he asked.

“It's just a tiny bit too big,” she said. “I think I might wear it on a chain rather than get it resized. I don't want to run the risk of it being ruined beyond repair.”

He set it down to the side of her box and picked up a double strand of black pearls. “Are these real?” he asked.

“Yes. My great-grandmother got them from the duchess she was a ladies maid for. They had been a parting gift when my great-grandmother left to get married to my great-grandfather. I've never had the opportunity to wear them myself. I don't ever go anywhere nice enough.” She watched him set those aside as well, and she picked up a tennis bracelet with opals and diamonds. “This is the only piece of jewelry that wasn't passed down to me. Before my father died he had this made for me as a graduation gift. He gave it to me before I went to medical school and I used to wear it every day, at least until I started working with patients and it began getting in the way. It was my way to remember him.”

“Why opals, though?” he asked.

“My birthday is in October,” she said. “Opals are my birthstone.”

“Ah,” he said with a nod. He looked in the box and then picked up another ring. This one had a large garnet and was surrounded by a circle of diamonds. “This looks like it could fit your ring finger.”

“It does,” she said, taking the ring from him and slipping it onto her hand. “Garnet was my mother's birthstone. This was the ring my father gave my mother on their first year anniversary. Quite a few of the pieces in the box were anniversary gifts from my father to my mother. I gave some of them to other family members when she passed but I kept my favorites.”

“Is there one piece you love more than the others?” he asked.

She nodded and then went through the box before holding up a man's wedding ring. She continued to dig for a moment before she pulled up a smaller wedding band. “These were the rings my parents wore. When my father died my mother wore his ring around her neck until she got ill. I wore both of them around mine until my chain broke a few months ago. I decided at that point it would be best to keep them in the jewelry box rather than risk losing them. They're irreplaceable.”

He picked her father's ring up off of her palm and studied it. “I sometimes wonder what my parents might leave to me whenever it is that they die.”

“Is your family sentimental?” she asked.

“Not really,” he said. “I may get books and manuscripts and things that are of interest to me, but I wouldn't get anything like this. I don't believe my mother owns any jewelry other than her wedding bands and a locket she never takes off. Those will probably go to Mycroft.”

“He might not want them,” she said.

“If they're left to him I doubt he'll give them to me,” he said, putting the ring back on her palm. She took the rings and set them back in the box. “Though I do think my mother was absolutely pleased about you. If we are together for a time she may leave them to me, if she thinks we're serious enough about each other to potentially have children.”

“I gather I get to meet her when all of this is over?” she asked, giving him a smile.

“She did imply she'd like that to happen sooner rather than later,” he said with a slight grin. “She understood why it couldn't when we spoke about it last, but once this is all over if we're still in a relationship I think she would very much like to meet you.”

“I'd like to meet her as well, I think. And your father, too.”

“Do you see us being together a long time?” he asked, looking at her.

She nodded slowly. “As I said earlier, I never thought you would fancy me. Ever. I thought it would be a completely one-sided attraction on my part, and I had accepted that, more or less. The fact you actually _did_ was the one bright spot in all of this. I want to make this work, at least as long as you want to make it work.”

“I think I would like you around for quite a while,” he said.

“Then I'll do my best to stay around until we tire of each other,” she said, turning away to close the lid of her jewelry box. When she was done she turned to face him more. “I think John's phone call interrupted something I was looking forward to.”

He reached over for her and pulled her closer. He moved his hands to her waist and absently ran one hand up and down. “I don't mind being close to you. I've never felt this way with anyone else before,” he said.

“Even the woman you cared for before?” she asked, looking up at him.

He nodded. “Yes. I feel comfortable when I'm with you. Even though I admired her I never felt comfortable with her. You've wormed your way into my life very well.”

“As long as you want me here then I think that's a good thing,” she said, putting her arms around his neck. He slid his hands around to the small of her back. “Because I'm very happy you're a part of my life.”

“I could be better, though,” he said.

“You could, but that's all right. I could too,” she said with a smile. “We'll work on it as we go.”

“Good,” he said before leaning in to kiss her. She kissed him back and lost herself in the kiss, and for a brief moment she had no worries, no fears. For a brief moment all was right with her world, and she was going to latch onto that feeling and try her damndest not to let it go. That was probably going to be the only way she survived this with her sanity intact.


	12. Chapter 12

Their first week had been very quiet, and she appreciated it. They had spent most of their time in the home, aside from the shooting lessons Sherlock was giving her. The first time she attempted to shoot the target he had set up she'd been off by such a margin that he couldn't even tell where the bullet had gone. With practice, though, she got better. She had even managed to actually hit the target near the center six days into practicing. She didn't want to have to pick up a gun unless she absolutely had to, but at least she knew if it came down to it she could possibly do a good job of protecting herself and anyone else she wanted to keep safe.

The only real disturbance had come the afternoon of their seventh day there. John had called Sherlock and from the tone of the conversation he sounded quite upset. It had taken some time for Sherlock to calm him down and only after the call had ended did she find out that the fingerprint on the rose petal had been John's. According to John, some blowhard at Scotland Yard had spent an hour relentlessly calling his mobile to tell him they were going to need him to come in for questioning as a suspect, even after Lestrade answered the phone and said there was no way it could be true. Scotland Yard had traced John's phone and shown up at the door of the safe house, and it was only after Mycroft personally drove to Leeds to sort everything out that the man in charge of the investigation realized they had been set up. Now Sherlock was quietly sitting in a chair, his elbows on his thighs and his hands clasped together in front of his face. He had been sitting like that a full hour after he got off the phone with John. Finally Molly came over and sat on the edge of his chair. “Tell me what you're thinking,” she said.

“M had this all set up in advance,” he said, not looking up at her. “Planting John's fingerprint on the petal, phoning in the threat if you testified...I'm honestly surprised Scotland Yard fell for the sloppy way he's done things. There had to have been adhesive residue on the petal for it to stay there. The only way there wouldn't be was in someone got a hold of one of his used latex gloves, and even then it should have been obvious it was planted.” Then he sighed. “M wanted all of us away from London and he wanted to be able to track us once we were gone, hence the calls to John.”

“Why aren't you worried that someone will track your phone?” she asked.

“When I was gone Mycroft gave me a special phone and laptop to use,” he said. “They both scramble my location if anyone tries to track them. He didn't take them back when I returned. But that was why I told you to leave your phone in Baker Street. I'm surprised the same message wasn't delivered to the others.” He finally looked up at her. “I think Mycroft anticipated this, which is why he separated us. Somebody wants it to be easier to kill us.”

“That's going to make sleeping tonight fun,” she said quietly.

“It will take quite a bit more for M to find us. Hopefully this gaffe on Scotland Yard's part will convince them they need to put all their resources towards this.”

“But it's just the two of us,” she said. “They won't think we're important. Greg would, but he's not in charge of the investigation. It's up to people who don't know us and don't really care what happens to us to solve this mystery.”

“Mycroft will ensure they give this their due diligence,” he said, reaching over for her hand. He grasped it and ran his thumb over her knuckles. “Try not to think about it too much. For the moment we're safe.”

“I know,” she said. “I suppose we should find something to occupy our time. It's still too early to go to sleep.”

“We can watch a film, if you'd like. Or rather you can watch it. I'll be communicating with Mycroft as he tries to get things sorted and get information we can use.”

She shook her head. “I think I'm just going to try and read. If I can concentrate on a book, I mean. Right now I'm not sure if I'll be able to, what with this new worry.”

“Then I'll leave you in peace,” he said. She got up from the side of his chair and went into her room to pick up the book she had been reading earlier in the day. Her bed was more comfortable than the chairs or sofa, she had found, and so she laid down on top of the mattress and propped herself up into a comfortable position. She began to read, but after two hours the words began to blur and she was yawning more than she wasn't. The lack of sleep must have really caught up to her, she decided as she saved her place in the book and set it back on her nightstand. She didn't bother to get under the quilt, instead curling up on her side and shutting her eyes.

As tired as she was her sleep wasn't restful. It seemed as though she was in a waking nightmare, where each scenario she went through was worse than the next. No matter what she wanted to do she couldn't wake up. And then finally she could, and she sat bolt upright with a scream on her lips. But she wasn't alone; Sherlock had just come to the doorway as she opened her eyes. “I'm so sorry,” she said as she looked at him.

“I heard a crash and got worried,” he said. Her eyes widened and she looked over at her nightstand. Both book and jewelry box were no longer on it. She put her feet on the floor as Sherlock came over, kneeling down next to her nightstand. He picked up the jewelry box, and she saw that the hinge was broken. “I'm sorry.”

“I suppose that's just in keeping with the day,” she said with a sigh as she took it from him. Now that she got a closer look at it she saw that the stained glass in the lid was cracked.

“I can see if I can get it repaired when we get home,” he said, looking down to begin picking up the jewelry.

“It's all right. The glass broke too,” she said. “I'll just buy a new one later.” She set it on her nightstand again and began setting the jewelry he handed her back into it. When they had it all back in she shut the lid and carried it to her dresser.

“May I at least replace it?” he asked.

“If you really want to,” she said. When she was done she sat on the bed and folded her hands into her lap, looking down. “I can't believe I did that.”

He sat next to her. “Were you having a nightmare?” he asked.

“More like several, one right after the other. The one I was having when I was finally able to wake up was where I was being disemboweled like the rat. It was particularly vivid, especially since I know it doesn't immediately cause death.”

“Are you still tired?” he asked.

She shook her head. “I'll need to sleep eventually, though, if I can.”

He was quiet for a few moments. “Do you want to have company while you sleep?” he finally asked.

She looked over at him in surprise. “Do you mean sleep next to me?”

“Well, that was the general idea. If not, I could sit on the edge of your bed until you're asleep and then go back to my own room once you're in a deep enough sleep.”

“I would like that, actually. The first suggestion, I mean. But are you sure it's not going to make you uncomfortable?” she asked.

“I can stand a little discomfort to give you comfort,” he said. “But I don't expect it to bother me too much.” Then he paused. “Though I have never shared a bed with anyone before so it might get awkward.”

“I have, so I can make sure it doesn't.” She was silent for a few moments. “Does it ever bother you that I'm more experienced than you are?”

He shook his head. “Just because I chose to live a solitary lifestyle doesn't mean everyone else I know did. I'll admit at times I'm a bit daunted because it's all new to me, but it doesn't bother me.”

“It's all new to you, isn't it?” she asked, tilting her head slightly. “I mean, obviously, there are things I _know_ you haven't done, but...”

“As I told you before I had never kissed anyone before I kissed you,” he said. “So that and everything that comes after it has been and will be a new experience for me.”

“I didn't realize I was your first kiss at the time it happened,” she said. “I wouldn't have guessed that. I thought you might have had a little practice before me.”

“I was terrified I would make an absolute hash out of it, and that feeling grated on me almost enough that I didn't enjoy it,” he admitted with a half-smile. “But you didn't seem to have issue with my technique so I relaxed.”

“I'm glad I was your first kiss,” she said with a grin. “I don't think I've ever been anyone's first for anything before.”

“Well, tonight you will be the first person I share a bed with, so that will be another first,” he said. “Hopefully you don't kick me out of it.”

“Unless you hog the quilt I sincerely doubt there is anything you can do to make me _not_ want to share a bed with you,” she said with a soft laugh.

“It's good to hear you laugh,” he said after a moment. “That has been in short supply these last few weeks.”

“There hasn't been much to be happy about, unfortunately,” she said, her smile dimming. “Once this is over I'll be much happier.”

“I look forward to that,” he said. “Did you want to try and get some supper?”

“I probably should,” she said thoughtfully. “What time is it, anyway?”

“Just after seven. You came into your room around four, and I'm assuming you went to sleep around six.”

“Then it sounds about right that I eat,” she said. “What did you have?”

“I simply made a sandwich,” he said. “But there is enough food to make a proper meal.”

“A sandwich will be fine for me too,” she said. “I'm not very hungry.”

“You have been eating less lately,” he noted.

“It's stress. I noticed my clothes are fitting more loosely because I'm not eating as much as I usually do.”

“I should make sure you eat more,” he said with a frown.

“It's all right,” she said. “When this is all over I'll probably go right back to my old eating habits so the weight will come back. Probably with a little extra as well, actually.”

“I think you look very nice regardless,” he said.

She gave him a smile and then leaned over to kiss his cheek. “Thank you for the compliment.”

“You're welcome,” he said as she got off the bed. He followed suit a moment later. “Do you want company in the kitchen?”

“I would like that very much,” she said, nodding. “And then maybe we can find something to occupy us until I'm tired again. I don't think I'm going to want to concentrate on a book.”

“I had Mycroft send something of mine here. It just arrived this morning.”

“What was it?” she asked as they made their way out of her bedroom.

“My violin,” he replied.

“Oh, it's been a while since I've gotten to hear you play,” she said. “And you really are quite good.”

“I thought you would enjoy it. And truth be told I've missed playing it. I didn't do it very often while I was gone, and not as much as I would have liked since my return. But I will gladly play for you tonight.”

“Thank you,” she said. They lapsed into silence as they made their way into the kitchen, and once she started to make her food he began an easy stream of conversation. When she was done she took her plate to the table and he went into his bedroom to get his violin case. She was a third of the way done with her food when he came back, case in hand. She watched him take the violin out of the case and tuck it under his chin before taking his bow and beginning to play. She felt more relaxed the longer he played, and she stayed at the table long after she was done with her food, enjoying the private concert.

She wasn't quite sure how long it was until she began to feel tired again, but after the fourth time she yawned he finished his song and lowered his violin. “Are you ready to attempt to go back to sleep?” he asked.

She nodded. “I don't even know what time it is, but I'm tired.”

He set his violin and bow back in their case and then looked at his watch. “It's nearly eleven.”

Her eyes widened. “You played for nearly four hours nonstop.”

“I've actually gone much longer before,” he said, closing the case and latching it shut. “It's not unusual for me to play for eight hours with no break.”

“Don't you get hungry? Or thirsty?” she asked, standing up.

“Not noticeably,” he replied. “I get so caught up in the music I lose track of time. It always used to drive John bonkers because I would usually start playing around ten and play through the night. I think there were times he seriously considered murdering me because I wouldn't let him fall asleep and stay asleep.”

“I would love to fall asleep to the violin,” she said, picking up her plate. They headed into the kitchen and she set it in the sink. “Have you ever thought of recording yourself playing?”

“I only really play for my own enjoyment,” he said. “I'm not a professional, nor do I have the desire to be.”

“Did you ever want to be one, though?” she asked.

“When I was very young. I wanted to be the youngest first chair violinist in the history of the Royal Concertgebouw Orchestra, in Amsterdam,” he said. “My teacher said I would never be good enough, though, no matter how hard I practiced. It's the best orchestra in the world and I would have to devote every waking moment to practice to be good enough to even be considered. When I turned eight I found another avenue of my life I wanted to explore and so I devoted only the minimum amount of time and attention to learning the violin.”

“Was that when Moriarty murdered the boy in the pool?” she asked.

He nodded. “That was the start of it. Of all of it, actually. Of my career, of the game he'd planned, of the game we're still playing. There are times I regret letting that case catch my attention.”

“But there is a lot you wouldn't have if you hadn't gotten interested in solving that case,” she said gently. “Would you have met Mrs. Hudson?”

He thought for a moment, tilting his head. “Possibly. Living with her was one of the conditions I had when I was released from rehab. But if I hadn't gotten involved in the case there was a chance I wouldn't have developed an addiction to heroin, so I wouldn't have met her in that case.”

“Well, you definitely wouldn't have met me or Greg,” she said. “You wouldn't have been in the business of solving complicated crimes so there would be no reason to know a copper or a specialist registrar. And if you weren't doing that you probably wouldn't be at St. Bart's at all, and then you wouldn't have met Mike.”

“And if I hadn't met Stamford I wouldn't have been introduced to John,” he continued quietly. “I suppose I see what you mean now. Still, the dangers of playing these games outweigh the good things, I think. My actions twenty-five years ago have pulled multiple people directly into the path of a psychopath, and even though he's no longer alive on this earth _his_ actions are still reverberating through everyone's lives.”

“That is true, but don't forget the good that came out of it, all right?” she asked.

He nodded and moved closer to her before reaching over and touching her face gently. “I wish I had your optimism,” he said softly.

“I rather have to,” she said, closing the gap between them. “I refuse to live my life with a pessimistic outlook.”

He moved his hand away from her face and settled it on her waist, running it up and down a bit. “I don't want you to lose your optimism,” he said. “Promise me you won't.”

“I'll try very hard not to,” she said quietly as she looked up at him. “I promise.”

“Good,” he said before leaning in and kissing her. She kissed him back, moving her hands to frame his face slightly as he pulled her as close as he could. One day, probably soon, they might go farther than kissing, she thought to herself. The kisses were getting more passionate even when they weren't intended to be, and she wasn't sure if it was just her that was having a hard time walking away from them. It would be interesting to see what happened after they shared a bed together tonight. They broke apart after a few minutes but he didn't immediately let her go. “We should try and get some rest now,” he murmured.

“You need to let me go to do that,” she said with a smile. He blinked, as though he hadn't realized he was still keeping her close, and then he let go. “Give me some time to change, all right?”

He nodded. “I'll knock on your door when I'm finished.” With that the two of them went to their separate rooms, and once she got to hers she began to change out of the clothes she had been wearing. She felt quite nervous as she got dressed for bed, trying to figure out what she should wear. Finally she settled on a pair of pyjamas that was comfortable but didn't bare much skin. She had just finished brushing her hair out when there was a knock. “Are you decent?” he asked from the other side.

“I am,” she said, setting down her brush. Sherlock opened the door and she saw he had his pyjamas on and his dressing gown over it. He appeared to be a little nervous as well, which made her feel better. “You can put your dressing gown on the back of the door.”

He nodded and took it off before closing the door and hanging it on the hook. Then he looked over at her. “How does this generally work?” he asked.

“Well, we both lie down in bed. It would probably be best if I lie down on my side and you sleep next to me with my back to your chest.” She went over to the side of the bed she normally slept on and he went around to the other. They both pulled back the quilt and sheet and got into the bed. He moved closer to her and after a moment put his arm around her waist. “Exactly like that,” she said in a reassuring tone.

“Will we stay in this position all night?” he asked, his lips near her ear.

“Maybe. It depends on what type of grip you have on my waist,” she said. She snuggled next to him more and he responded by tightening his hold just slightly. She shut her eyes and yawned. “Good night, Sherlock.”

“Good night, Molly,” he said, and then he was quiet. She let herself drift off to sleep, hoping this time it was easier to come by.


	13. Chapter 13

Nothing had happened the first night they had slept next to each other. He had woken up first and was absently running his hand up and down along her waist when she finally woke up since she had turned to face him in her sleep. It had been such a long time since she had slept so soundly, she'd realized. And it was also nice to wake up with someone else beside her. Once he realized she was awake he had given her a smile and she had kissed him in response. And then they got out of bed and went about the business of making breakfast.

She asked him to sleep next to her again that night, and the night after as well. The fourth night he was at her door after they had separated for the night, knowing she would still want him there even if she didn't actually ask. She had given him a grin and they had settled on the bed and gone to sleep, and she had realized as she fell asleep that when this was all over she was going to give him what he wanted. She was going to stay with him, whether it was at her own home or Baker Street. She didn't want to go to sleep alone anymore, and she didn't want to not be near him. Just as sleep overtook her she also came to the realization that she was, in fact, in love with him, and it both pleased and worried her. But then she was asleep and it didn't matter for the moment.

When she woke up the next morning she had miraculously woken up first. That was the first time that had happened since they had started sharing a bed. Once again she had turned to face him, and this time she reached over and brushed his hair away from his face. It hadn't grown back quite as curly, she realized, but she still loved the way it looked. His response to her actions were to pull her closer and tighten his hold on her waist. “I still want to sleep,” he murmured sleepily.

“I'm sorry,” she said with a soft chuckle. “I can get out of bed so you can get more rest.”

“That defeats the purpose of sharing a bed with you,” he said.

“You like sleeping next to me, don't you?” she asked as he opened his eyes, and she knew she was giving him an amused grin.

“I find I've slept better once we started sharing the same bed,” he said with a slight nod. “I sleep for longer periods of time, at any rate. And I enjoy being this close to you.”

“I like being this close to you, too,” she said. “I think if I were to go back to living on my own I would miss this terribly.”

He looked surprised for a moment, and then gave her a wide grin. “So have you decided that when this is all over you'll stay?” he asked.

She moved her hand up to cup his cheek. “Well, you and I need to sort out exactly where we would want to live but yes, I'll stay,” she said. “I've gotten too used to being near you to go back to living apart.” 

“That is the best news I've received since you said you still fancied me,” he said.

“I thought that might make you quite happy,” she said with a laugh. “Would you mind terribly if I got up and got something to eat?”

“No, I wouldn't mind,” he said, shaking his head. 

“Well, I'll at least give you a kiss first,” she said, moving closer. “It's only fair since I woke you up.”

“Yes, that does seem quite fair to me,” he said with a slight nod before leaning in and pressing his lips to hers. Yes, it was certainly getting harder to not want more, she thought to herself as she kissed him back. It was definitely getting harder to separate herself from him when they were done kissing, and right now was no exception. They only pulled apart to catch their breath. “It seems to me it is getting harder to stop,” he said quietly, running a hand up and down her back.

“I'm glad I'm not the only one who feels that way,” she said. “We need to talk about that, I think. Do you want to move this relationship to that point?”

He was quiet for a moment, then shook his head. “Not right this moment, but soon, I think. I still need some time to get completely used to the idea.”

“Do you want to keep your distance from me until you're completely comfortable with going forward?” she asked.

“Not particularly,” he said. “What about you? Do you want to?”

“No,” she said. “I like being close to you too much. I might think things are worse if we aren't able to be close. But whenever you decide you want to, I want to as well.”

“Good,” he said quietly. “I suppose we should get out of this bed and get something to eat for breakfast.”

“I think that might be a good idea.” She didn't attempt to move, though, and he didn't let her go. “Or we could stay in bed a while longer,” she said with a warm smile.

“I say we stay in bed until we absolutely need to leave,” he said, yawning slightly.

“You go back to sleep, then. I'll stay here until you actually wake up,” she said. He nodded and shut his eyes again, loosening his grip enough for her to roll back onto her other side again. She could hear his breathing level off soon afterward but she didn't go back to sleep. There were quite a few thoughts running around in her head. Most of it had to do with the fact that she was in love with him. She wasn't sure she should tell him, mostly because she didn't know if he felt the same way or if he _did_ whether he would actually know if he did. And she didn't want to potentially scare him off, though his happiness at knowing she was going to continue to reside with him after this was all over told her that perhaps it wouldn't scare him. Still, she wanted to err on the side of caution, so in the end she decided not to tell him.

He woke up again about an hour and a half later, and she was glad for that because she was starving. He offered to cook for her, and so they moved out of her bedroom and into the kitchen, and she leaned against a counter as he began to make them porridge for breakfast. She had gotten used to eggs or toast and cereal since they had arrived so this was a nice change of pace, especially since it seemed so cold outside this morning. They took their food to the table and ate in companionable silence, and when they were done he leaned back in his chair slightly. “I think we're running out of things to do here,” he said after a moment.

“That is the problem with having a limited amount of things to do,” she said. “You don't seem to be the type to get enjoyment from works of fiction, and almost every book here is fiction.”

“I generally tend not to let things like that clutter up my mind palace,” he said.

“You know, I've always wondered about that,” she said, tilting her head slightly. “How exactly does your mind palace work?”

“I file away everything I feel is important. I put each fact into a compartment that I can access when I need it, and the compartments are grouped in rooms according to subject. I do it with my memories as well. Each person I know has their own room, I suppose, and all the memories are there when I want to access them.”

“What types of memories do you think are worth remembering?” she asked.

“It varies by person. With Mycroft it's mostly sleights from our childhood. We have never really had a warm and loving relationship. We use each other more than we don't. I suppose with my parents it's the odd conversation that struck a chord with me, or something absolutely banal that I have no real reason for remembering. With Lestrade it's mostly the interactions over cases. Same with the others who work with him.” He paused. “Though with Lestrade he made an effort to get to know me after the incident at Baskerville. I would pull those memories out while I was gone and examine those closely. Mrs. Hudson's are mostly the ones where I feel cared for, even if I didn't act like it mattered at the time.”

“What about John?”

He thought for a moment. “With John there are so many. Tiny moments that signified a change in me in one way or another, the cases, random discussions. Things that when I think of them make me realize he is my best friend.” He paused. “You didn't ask about my memories of you.”

“I'm sure up until recently they weren't particularly noteworthy,” she said.

He was quiet for a moment as he shut his eyes. “I remember the first day we met,” he said when he spoke again. “I remember that you had on a pair of tan trousers and a hideous jumper that was pink and yellow. The motif was Easter related. Baby chicks and eggs. You had your hair pulled into a knot at the nape of your neck. You were incredibly nervous to meet me because you knew of my reputation. I treated you like dirt, and you had a look on your face at the end as if you were a puppy and I'd just kicked you. But only for a moment. Then you gave me a smile and said you hoped you saw more of me soon. At the time I decided I would be able to get you to do anything I wanted, and I should have filed you away as someone unimportant, as someone beneath my notice, just like Donovan and Anderson. But you got your own room immediately because you were kind to me when I'd given you absolutely no reason to be.”

“ _I_ don't even remember that much from our first meeting,” she said, her eyes wide. “All I remember was that you were just as callous as everyone had warned me you would be, but I decided to be nice to you anyway.”

“Why did you do that?” he asked when he opened his eyes.

“Because I thought you could use a friend,” she said. “You just didn't consider me one until much later, after John.”

“But I trusted you from that first moment,” he said. “Even though I knew I would most likely use you for my own means I knew I could trust you. And you have never let me down.”

She looked down and felt her cheeks warm. “Thank you for the compliment.”

“I think I truly began to look at you differently when you stood up to me at the party,” he said. “I had never expected that. I thought you would continue to let me walk all over you without comment. That evening I realized if I kept treating you poorly one day you would write me off as a lost cause, just like countless others have.”

“That whole thing hurt,” she said. “I mean, you humiliated me. But then you apologized. In all the years I had known you, you'd never done that, no matter how badly you treated me.”

“I hardly ever apologize,” he said. “I was always taught it was a sign of weakness to apologize, even if you were in the wrong. But that night I knew I had gone too far. I know it didn't change all of my interactions with you after that, but that night was when I realized I was special to you.”

“Well, you were. And you are. More so now.” She picked up her coffee and took a sip. “Are all your memories of me like that? I mean, that detailed?”

“Most of them are, yes,” he said with a nod. “It's the same with a few others, too, like John and my family.”

“I'm surprised I don't have more memories of you,” she said thoughtfully. “I mean, for a long time I practically lived for you needing something from me and coming down to my morgue. But I don't have many actual memories, considering how many interactions we've had.”

“Considering how poorly our interactions had gone I'm not surprised,” he said, picking up his own coffee.

“Most of the actual memories I have that I kept close while you were gone were from when you stayed with me. You actually let your guard down around me, and I learned so much more about you.”

“I think that experience changed my perception of you as well,” he said. “There was more to you than I had realized.”

“Did you know I still have all the things you sent me?” she said. “I didn't bring them to Baker Street, but they're in a box under my bed. I kept every note, every letter, every postcard. I'd read them over and over again quite frequently, especially when I felt lonely.”

“Why didn't you interact with more people?” he asked. “John I can understand, since you were keeping my secret and he had taken my death the hardest. But why didn't you attempt to make new friends?”

“I don't know if I can explain it,” she said after a moment's thought. “I suppose part of it was because I let work consume me. It was easier to ask for an extra shift than ask if someone wanted to go grab a pint after work. When I was working I could concentrate on something that wasn't me and my sad, pathetic life. And the other part was until you were finished with your task I didn't know if it was actually safe to make new friends, to bring anyone else into my orbit.”

“Considering everything that's gone on that was probably best,” he said. “As you pointed out shortly after I arrived, while protection was offered to you it might not be offered to others.”

She had some more of her coffee. “If I had gotten a boyfriend while you were gone and I was still dating him when you came back, what would you have done?” she asked curiously.

He looked at her intently for a moment. “In all honesty I most likely would have done everything I could to ruin the relationship. Perhaps I might not have done it purposefully, but I would have done it, mostly because I would have been incredibly jealous of him.”

“Then I am very glad I was single,” she said with an amused grin before she had more of her coffee. “Because I would have stopped speaking to you if you'd done that.”

“That would have made our current living situation very tense,” he said with a grin of his own. “Not that I think your relationship would have survived us practically being attached at the hip all the time. Any man that wouldn't get jealous would be an absolute fool.”

“I don't know. I could have picked a patient and understanding man,” she said.

“Any man that is _that_ understanding is an idiot,” he said. “Especially since the first nine days I was back neither of us were allowed to leave your home. Suddenly not being able to see this fictional significant other for over a week should have raised some serious red flags for him. And then to see that a man you had professed to fancy had moved in with you? And that later you had to move into his home? I'd have given the relationship two more weeks. Three at most.”

“I didn't realize you felt so strongly about that,” she said, raising an eyebrow.

“Well, it's a hypothetical situation I don't want to think about,” he said in a huff.

“Then it's a good thing everything has played out the way it has in regards to the state of my social life,” she said. She drank the last of her coffee and stood up. “I'm going to get more coffee. Do you want some?”

He shook his head. “I'm only halfway through mine.” She moved over to him, and then she leaned down and kissed him. When she pulled away he gave her a quizzical look. “Not that I mind, but why did you do that?”

“You look cute when you pout,” she said with a smile. “And I thought you deserved one.”

“I do not look cute when I pout because I don't pout,” he said.

“Oh, yes you do. And it's rather adorable.” She straightened up. “Why don't you think about something we can do to occupy our time that we'll both enjoy?”

“Fine,” he said. She went into the kitchen and poured herself another cup of coffee, fixing it to her liking before going back to the table. Sherlock wasn't sitting there, so she made her way to the sitting room and saw him at the bookshelf. She cleared her throat to get his attention and he turned around. “Do you have books you have yet to read?”

“I have a few left,” she said. “Not many, though. I'm a fast reader.”

“You had mentioned a lot of these are partial series. I was thinking of asking Mycroft for the other books in the series that interest you so you can read them.”

“That would be wonderful,” she said with a smile. “There are five series I can think of off the top of my head. I just need to find out which books were already here.”

“I was thinking more of just giving him the series name and having him send all the books in the series, so that when this is all over you can take them home if you like them,” he said. “It makes more sense than going through each and every book and cataloging them.”

“I approve of this plan,” she said.

“Then tell me the series and I'll call him,” he replied.

“Well, there are two trilogies that are connected, The Elenium and The Tamuli, by David Eddings. Then there's a series called Arcane Society, but there are three different authors. They're fairly standalone, because one of them was here and I read it without realizing it was in a series, but they're written by Amanda Quick, Jayne Ann Krentz and Jayne Castle. Another one that looked interesting was the Josie Marcus, Mystery Shopper series by Elaine Viets. We had the third one. The last series that looked intriguing is the Nikki Heat series by Richard Castle. It's based on a television show in the States, and the book for the second story in the series looked very interesting.”

“Anything else?” he asked.

“Tolkien's works?” she asked. “I've read them all before, except The Silmarillion, but I'd like to reread them if we'll be here for a long time.”

“I'll see what he can do,” he said with a nod. “Perhaps for now you can read while I play my violin for you?”

“That would be lovely,” she said. “I'd just started a book yesterday evening that I would like to finish today. It left off at a good part.”

“Since you prefer to read in your room I will meet you in there with my violin,” he said. “As soon as I finish my coffee, at any rate.”

“I'm patient. I can wait,” she said.

“Yes, you are,” he said with a nod. “And I'm glad for that.”

“I know you are,” she said as she smiled widely at him. He grinned back and then went back to finishing his coffee and she left him in peace. They had had quite a few interesting conversations this morning, and she knew she was going to be pondering quite a few of the things they had talked about for a while. She just hoped they didn't overwhelm her thoughts.


	14. Chapter 14

A week and a half passed before they got any more news on the investigation. Mycroft called Sherlock and told him INTERPOL had gotten involved and that they had a potential suspect they were looking at because if M really was Moran this had the potential to be something that needed to be handled in multiple jurisdictions across the world. It appeared to Molly that the plan to have him murdered in prison had been scrapped, and she was conflicted about that. While she understood that it would raise more questions and keep other crimes from being solved it also set her on edge. She had started to realize that the others had been right, that the only way he would no longer be a threat was if he was dead. Now that that no longer appeared to be an option she worried that she would never feel truly safe.

She had gone to her bedroom after Sherlock had relayed the information to her to lay down and marshal her thoughts. She wasn’t quite sure how long she had been in there when Sherlock knocked on her door. “Come in,” she said.

He opened the door and she saw he was carrying a cup of tea. “I thought you could use this,” he said. 

“That would be lovely,” she replied, giving him a small smile as she sat up. “Thank you.”

He came closer to her and handed her the cup and saucer before sitting next to her. As she took a sip he began studying her. “I imagine something in my conversation with my brother troubled you,” he said.

She nodded. “If M really is Moran and he goes to prison and no one arranges for…” She trailed off for a moment, but she could see he understood what she was trying to stay. “We won’t ever really be safe, will we?”

“We’ll be safer, I suppose, but the honest truth is that we probably wouldn’t,” he said quietly.

“That’s what I was afraid of,” she said with a sigh. “I don’t want to live that way, Sherlock. I don’t want to live in constant fear.”

“I don’t either,” he said. “The only thing I could possibly suggest is we try and draw him out. Use ourselves as bait, then try and capture him, find out what his full plans are. If they’re something I can stop while he’s locked up in the deepest darkest prison there is, then we can be safe.”

“So either we use ourselves as bait and run the risk of either one or both of us being injured or killed, or you can go off again and maybe not come back this time,” she said. “Neither are incredibly appealing options.”

“Then we simply have to let INTERPOL and Scotland Yard do their jobs,” he said. “Let them and everyone else involved do everything they can to catch M and keep him from enacting any other plans. Even then, though, Mycroft might have me go back to cleaning up the mess.”

She shook her head. “Why you? I mean, honestly, why you?”

“Because right now I know more about the organization than anyone except Mycroft, and he can’t leave to take care of the threat. Not that he would even if he could. That’s what I’m for, in his eyes.” He paused. “But in this particular instance I’d probably volunteer. It would mean you and the others would be safe, once and for all, and that would be worth the risk.”

“If you leave and you don’t come back this time I don’t know what I’d do,” she said, setting the cup and saucer on the nightstand. “I don’t want to lose you. You’re too important to me, Sherlock.”

“There may be no other option,” he said.

“It’s not fair,” she said, beginning to get angry. “ _Why_ does it have to be you who has to clean up the mess? If Mycroft wants it taken care of he should do it himself. Doesn’t he see that there are people who love you and don’t want you to leave again?”

“I know people care about me, but I wouldn’t go so far as to say any of them love me,” he said.

“Well, _I_ do, and I’ll make sure Mycroft is aware of that fact if he tries to make you leave again,” she said in a slight huff. It took her a moment to register the look of utter shock on his face and then her eyes widened. “Sherlock, I…that wasn’t how I wanted that to come out.”

“That’s how you really feel about me?” he asked quietly.

She nodded slowly. “Yes, it is. I know you probably don’t feel the same, and that’s fine, but that’s how I feel.”

He was quiet for a few moments. “I’m not sure how I feel,” he said finally. “Well, I have a good idea, but I’m not sure if it’s actually love or not. I can readily admit I care about you greatly. I care about you more than anyone else in my life. But until I sort it out I don’t want to say those words. If I get to the point where I can say them I want to truly mean them. You deserve that much. I hope that you won’t have to wait for long for me to figure out exactly how I feel about you, though.”

“I can accept that,” she said. “At least I know you care about me that much. I mean, I know you did, but now I know how much.”

He reached over for her hand. “The fact that you love me is something I’m incredibly grateful for.”

“I’m glad,” she said, squeezing his hand once he’d grasped hers. “And I’m fairly sure you’ll come to the same conclusion I have.”

He moved closer to her and grinned. “I’m glad you see that as a forgone conclusion.”

“Well, it’s only natural,” she said with a smile of her own.

He let go of her hand and tucked a strand of hair back behind her ear. “I’m glad it’s you that loves me.”

“I am too. And I’ll tell you as often as you want to hear it, even if you haven’t said it back yet.”

“Good,” he said with a nod. He leaned in after that and kissed her, moving his hands to frame her face. She reached over and lightly placed her hands on his chest. When they broke apart he didn’t move all the way back, instead resting his forehead against hers. “It is definitely getting harder to stop doing that.”

“I know,” she said softly.

“I almost didn’t,” he replied.

She pulled away slightly to look at him. “Why did you, then?”

“Because I’m not sure how to proceed from here.” He was quiet for a moment. “Do you still want to take things further?”

She nodded. “Yes, I do.”

“Then you’ll have to guide me,” he said. “I know the technical details, but I don’t know how to put it into practice.”

“I can show you,” she said as she pulled away from him completely. He gave her a quizzical look, which she returned with a warm smile. Then she stood up, offering him her hand. “The first thing you should do is kiss me for a while. It is always good to start with kissing.”

He nodded. “That I can do.” He took her hand and stood up, and as soon as he could he pulled her close against him. She wound her arms around his neck and he lowered his head to kiss her again. This was a more passionate kiss than they normally shared. After a few minutes she slid her hands down his chest and then further down, reaching for the hem of his shirt. She pulled it up, and when she got it high enough he stepped away from the kiss and pulled it off of himself, tossing it negligently to the side. She put her hands on his chest for a moment. She had slept next to him often enough to know he was quite muscular even though he was lean, but seeing it was different. She slid her hands up his chest to his neck and then to his face, and he took that as the hint it was to kiss her again.

They had been kissing for a couple of minutes before he hesitantly slid his hand up her back to the zipper of her dress. After fumbling for a brief moment he began to slide the zipper down until it was all the way at the bottom, leaving her dress open in the back. She moved her body away slightly and removed her hands from his face, and then she lowered one of the straps and pulled her arm out of the dress. Before she could repeat her actions on the other side he moved his hand to her shoulder and lowered the strap for her. She let the dress fall to the floor, leaving her only in her bra and knickers. He moved his other hand up her back again and let his fingers skirt the edge of her bra. She pulled away from the kiss and looked at him. “Perhaps I should get that undone,” she said with a grin.

“Is it really that complicated?” he asked.

“You could always try and find out,” she said.

He nodded before attempting to undo the clasp of her bra. He tried for a full minute before he hung his head. “Why is that so complicated?”

“I'm not sure,” she said with a soft laugh, reaching behind her with both hands and undoing it quickly. She left it hanging open in the back. “You'd be surprised at how quickly a woman can get one of these off.”

“I suppose they aren't all that comfortable,” he said.

“They aren't horrible, but most women are happy to take them off at the end of their day,” she replied.

“May I finish removing it?” he asked. She nodded, and he moved one hand to her shoulder, latching it under the strap and pulling it off her shoulder. He let his fingertips graze her arm as he moved it, and after a moment he did the same on the other side. She shifted slightly and then pulled it off the rest of the way, dropping it carelessly to the floor. He studied her for a long moment. “You don't seem to be uncomfortable.”

“It's because I'm not,” she said, stepping close to him again. “If you get uncomfortable, though, tell me. We can stop at any point.”

“I'm just worried I'll disappoint you,” he said.

“I'll admit, I've usually been the less experienced one the other times I've shagged, but I do remember how awkward it all can be,” she said, looking up at him. “I'm not expecting perfection. I just want to make sure this isn't the only time you want to do this.”

He nodded. “I should probably tell you that you look quite lovely,” he said.

“That is very nice to hear,” she said as her cheeks warmed slightly. “I think you look very handsome yourself.” 

He gave her a small smile. “So now what do we do?”

“Well, you are still wearing far too much clothing,” she said. “So we should take care of that first.” She reached between them and placed her hands on his chest again, but this time she ran her fingers lower until they reached the waistband of his denim trousers. She undid the button and then very carefully lowered the zipper. After she was done she moved her hands again to push his trousers off his hips. He helped after a moment, kicking them to the side when he had them low enough. She looked up at him when he was done. “Do you trust me to make this enjoyable for you?”

“I trust you,” he said with a nod.

She moved her hands to pull him closer for another kiss. He obliged, and this one got fairly heated. She had known that just kissing him could get her quite aroused, as had been the case the last few times they'd snogged for an extended period of time, but that combined with bare skin against bare skin was an incredible turn-on. Later she would tell him ways to make things more enjoyable for her, but for now this was enough. After a few minutes of that she moved her hand to the waistband of his pants and ran her finger along the edge for a moment. Then she grasped the waistband and carefully peeled them away from him, pulling them down his legs and freeing his erection. When they were low enough he stepped out of them, and then he looked down at her, a curious look on his face. “Lie down on the bed,” she said.

“This isn't the way it normally works,” he said with a frown.

“I get the feeling that, since this is your first time, you don't want to make mistakes,” she said, reaching between them and stroking him. She watched him shut his eyes as he nodded and it was obvious this was something he didn't mind in the slightest. “I think it would be best if I did most of the work. And, as an added bonus, this is actually a position where not as much can go wrong on your end.”

“I almost don't want you to stop what you're doing now,” he said quietly.

“I can keep doing this, if you want,” she said. “I just want to make sure you're comfortable.”

“I want you to get something from it as well,” he said.

She leaned in and pressed a light kiss to his pulse point and she could see him shudder. “Then go lie down on the bed,” she murmured against his skin. When he pulled away she let go of him and waited for him to get settled. She took the opportunity to pull her knickers down and step out of them, and then she moved to the bed. She got on it and straddled him, moving farther up until she was in position. She lowered herself onto his erection, eliciting a groan from him. She did so slowly because he was a bit larger than she had anticipated and she needed to adjust. He instinctively moved his hands to her hips and after a moment she could feel him push her lower. She leaned forward slightly and then raised herself up again. “Help me set the rhythm,” she told him.

He nodded and then lifted his hips up as she lowered herself again. He pushed more insistently this time, and she obliged by moving a bit more quickly after that. It was harder work for her but this way she was in control for at least the start of it. She began to raise herself up and each time he pushed her down as he surged up into her. She wasn't worrying too much about getting pleasure herself; that was a lesson for another time. Soon they were building up a fast rhythm, and she leaned forward a little more so she could get more friction where she needed it. She did start to feel a familiar tension pooling inside of her, and she knew soon she was going to come apart. Finally she felt the orgasm hit, and she tightened around him. He surged up into her one more time and she could feel him stiffen as he came. Finally he lowered his hips and she leaned forward more, her breasts brushing against his chest. He moved a hand up her back, tailing his fingers along his spine. “That was quite satisfactory,” he said finally.

She smiled down at him before leaning in and kissing him. “I take it you want there to be a next time?” she asked when she pulled away. 

“Yes,” he said with a nod.

“Good. Next time will be better, I think. I'll let you decide what we do.” She took the opportunity to kiss him again before pulling away and disentangling herself from him. “Though for the moment I would suggest we share the shower. We could definitely use some cleaning up.”

He sat up more. “It is rather messy,” he said.

“Sadly, yes,” she said with a laugh. “That's why showers are a good follow-up activity. And taking them with someone else is more fun. But if you don't want to I understand. You can go first.”

“I think I would like to share a shower with you,” he said, standing up.

“I'll even be nice and not make you wash my hair,” she said as he got close. He pulled her against him and she looked up at him. “Yes?”

“You got enjoyment from that?” he asked.

“It wouldn't have mattered to me tonight if I did or didn't. But since you asked, yes, I did.” 

“I'm glad for that,” he said. “I wasn't quite sure you would.”

“That's actually a very good position for a woman sometimes,” she said. “But there are countless others, too. Not that I've had all that much experience with many of them, but that's part of the fun, figuring out what you like and what you don't. And I'll make sure you learn what I like while we find out what you like.” She leaned in and kissed him again, intending it to be brief but he didn't want to oblige. They stayed there like that for a few moments until she reluctantly pulled away. “The sooner we shower the sooner we can see about resting for a bit,” she murmured.

“And then?” he asked.

“And then we see if you're up for round two tonight,” she said, moving away from him. She looked back at him with a smile on her face and saw him give her one in return before following her to the washroom. She had absolutely no regrets that things took the turn they did tonight. If the worst happened and he did have to leave again at least she would have tonight and however many more times they could share before they were separated. She could be happy with that.


	15. Chapter 15

They had gone to sleep not long after they finished what was one of the more enjoyable showers she'd had her in entire life, and when she woke up he was still holding her close, though his hand was over her bare abdomen. Both experiences the day before had been extremely enjoyable, and she hoped that at some point this morning they could have that round two he said he wanted. She had only been awake a few moments before she felt his hand move and he began to trace light shapes on her abdomen. “It's a good thing I'm awake,” she said in an amused tone.

“If you weren't I had assumed that would be a more expedient way to wake you up,” he said. She shifted slightly and rolled onto her back, looking up at him as he continued to run his fingers on various parts of her abdomen. “Thank you.”

“For what?” she asked with a slight frown.

“For ensuring that everything went well,” he said. “I think if it had gone extremely poorly I wouldn't have wanted to try again. And you eventually would have left because you wanted intimacy and I wouldn't have given it to you.”

“If it had gone that badly I would have just insisted we try again later, and we keep trying until you did well,” she said softly. “A bad shag isn't the end of the world.”

“But a first shag going horribly wrong would have been off-putting for me,” he said. “Just look at how long it took us to get to this point. If it hadn't met the expectations I had in my head I wouldn't have wanted to do it again.”

“How high were your expectations?” she asked curiously.

“Higher than they probably should have been,” he said.

“And now?”

“Slightly lower, but after you teaching me other ways to please you while we were in the shower I think I have a better chance of meeting them, or at least getting close to them,” he said. “I would like the chance to put those lessons into practice at some point.”

“I am very tempted to do that now,” she said with a grin. “But between the shag and the shower and then sleeping I've got a bit of an appetite.”

“I'll admit, I'm hungry as well,” he said. “What are you in the mood for?”

“As hungry as I am, I think I want a fry-up,” she said after a moment's thought. “I'll make it, if you want some as well.”

“That sounds like a good idea,” he said with a nod, moving his hand away from her body. She pulled back the sheet and quilt and then got out of bed, beginning to head towards her dresser for a pair of knickers. She slipped them on and then went to the door for her dressing gown. She turned when she realized Sherlock hadn't gotten out of bed, raising an eyebrow at him and giving him a curious look. He gave her a grin in response. “I was just appreciating the view.”

She blushed at that, but her smile came back. “Well, I want company while I cook,” she said. “At least put your pants and trousers on and come join me.”

“All right,” he said with a nod, pulling off his own part of the sheet and quilt. She wanted to watch, to stare herself, but she was starving. She opened the door as she tightened the belt on her dressing gown and stepped out into the hallway. It was very early in the morning, she gathered, because the sun wasn't out yet. But considering it had only been dark for about an hour when they made it back to the bed and began to fall asleep she wasn't surprised. It was very quiet at this time of day, she realized as she made her way into the kitchen.

She began to rummage around for what she needed and waited for Sherlock to join her. He did about eight minutes later, dressed in nothing but pants and trousers. He leaned against the counter and watched for a moment without saying anything. She continued to get the food together until she decided that she wanted to know why he wasn't trying to have a conversation like they usually did when one of them were cooking. “Why aren't you saying anything?” she asked, stopping what she was doing to look at him.

“There was a message on my voice mail. It was left around midnight,” he said. “They found the exact rifle that was used to shoot Lestrade in the home of the suspect they had. Scotland Yard is satisfied that it is proof that their suspect is M, even though the suspect has vehemently been denying it.”

“Do you think this suspect really is M?” she asked.

“Possibly. But their suspect was someone in the organization without much power. He was simply a lower level assassin, and he wasn't in London when Lestrade was shot, as far as Mycroft and I could tell. He is also rather intelligent. If he really is Moran he would have gotten rid of the gun considering he'd shot a policeman, not left it in his home. Mycroft believes it was planted there, but Scotland Yard wants to consider the case closed. They want us to return to London.”

“What are we going to do?” she asked, a tinge of worry in her voice.

“We're going to stay a little longer,” he replied. “Mycroft has said he wants definitive proof aside from finding the rifle that the suspect is M. He wants to find the gun cleaning supplies, because so far all that has been found are manufactured supplies.”

“Which is making you both think it was a plant even more,” she said quietly.

He nodded. “Scotland Yard is going to run tests on all of the gun cleaning supplies they've found at Mycroft's insistence, but at the time he called me none of the results had come back.”

She was quiet for a few moments. “I thought M's plan was to get us away from London to make it easier to dispatch us.”

“It appears that the precautions we took have made that plan nonviable, since he can't locate us,” he said. “I think he wants us back to London so he can get us at a vulnerable moment now, even if he has to wait for it, because eventually it will come. If Scotland Yard no longer believes there's a threat that might be enough to convince Mycroft's superiors he's being overly cautious.” She tensed slightly and he pushed away from the counter, moving closer to her and pulling her against him. “I won't let anything happen to you, Molly. I know you don't particularly want to be here, but we won't leave until it's absolutely safe to do so.”

“I'd rather be here and be safe than be home and be in danger,” she said, embracing him back. They stayed like that for quite a while before she pulled away. “I should get back to making our breakfast. It's a bit of work.”

“Do you want to talk about something while you cook?” he asked.

She nodded. “Not about what's going on, though. Just something unimportant. Maybe something we've never really talked about before?”

“All right,” he said. He started to talk about some of the more spectacular disasters he'd had with experiments he'd run and she had to admit they were some interesting stories that got her mind off the newest wrinkle in the case. She cooked for them and then served up the breakfast a short time later. She didn't realize quite how hungry she was until she had begun to eat, and she had the entire plate empty in what she felt was record time. Sherlock finished up his food not that much later, and when he was done he pushed his plate away and looked at her. “Now what would you like to do?”

“There is a lot to be said for simply going back to bed until we get hungry again,” she said with a grin. “We can let you begin to put what you learned last night into practice.”

“That sounds like an idea I'm amenable to,” he said with a slowly widening smile. “As long as you tolerate any mistakes.”

“I don't think you'll make too many of those,” she said, standing up and picking up her plate and then going for his. “I'll meet you back in my bedroom. I just want to set all of this to soak.”

He nodded and stood up as she left the dining area for the kitchen. She'd already set the pots and pans in to soak, so she added the plates and utensils to the water and then headed back towards her bedroom. She opened it and then frowned when she saw Sherlock wasn't there. After a moment she went to his bedroom and saw the door was slightly open. She knocked softly and then pushed it open, seeing him on his phone. She stepped inside and waited for him to notice her. When he did he nodded towards her and continued his conversation for a few more minutes. When he was done he looked over at her. “That was Mycroft,” he said. “Something interesting happened.”

“Oh?” she asked.

“Mycroft had to move the others because of Scotland Yard's blunder, but he wasn't able to procure them a phone like mine so John had to keep his own mobile. When the suspect was caught and the sniper rifle was found at his home Mycroft called them to tell them yesterday. But this morning someone else came to pay them a visit, someone they weren't expecting.”

“Who?”

“Teague. He said Mycroft told Scotland Yard where the new safe house was. John and Lestrade were suspicious from the start but played along. Lestrade distracted him long enough for John to call my brother to confirm whether he had sent Teague or not, and Mycroft said he hadn't. They managed to tell Teague it was going to take some time to get everything gathered but they'd be back in London tonight.”

Her eyes widened. “Is he still there with them?”

He shook his head. “As far as Mycroft knows he is not. When Teague realized they didn't know exactly where I was he left. The three of them are safe, at least for the moment. But Mycroft is aware of the situation and he's going to monitor Teague. Either he's in league with M, feeding him inside information, or he _is_ M, which makes him very dangerous.”

She came into his room more, moving over to the bed and sitting down. “But why would he do this? I mean, why pretend to be someone he isn't?”

“Perhaps this was part of Moriarty's plan,” he said quietly as he sat next to her. “Have M stay close to as many of you as possible in a way that allowed him to be privy to important information. Becoming Lestrade's second in command was a brilliant way to do that. Lestrade had a friendship with John and a professional and personal relationship with you. And I'm sure Lestrade visited Mrs. Hudson and would talk about it during a slow point in the day, either because he wanted to chat or because Teague steered the conversation that way.”

“So what are we going to do now?” she asked, turning to look at him.

“We're going to stay here as Mycroft devises a plan. Right now the others are in more danger than we are, but there's no help for that. They have to go back to London or he'll get suspicious. But Mycroft is going to tighten security at Baker Street and Lestrade's home.” 

She shut her eyes. “I never would have guessed. He seemed so... _normal_.”

“There are people who do horrible things who want to be able to blend in so they try very hard to be as normal as they possibly can,” he said. “That's why people are always so shocked when the truth comes to light that a neighbour or a close friend or even a relative has done truly horrific things.”

“I know that,” she replied. “But I never thought it would happen to me.” Then she paused before hanging her head. “I don't know why I said that. It already did happen to me, with Moriarty. When he was pretending to work for the hospital and we went out on those dates. I've already had the wool pulled over my eyes by a madman.”

“In that instance we both did,” he replied. “I saw him as nothing more than a man who was an annoying fan who was playing you for a fool. Though that was because I thought he was gay, not because he was a criminal mastermind. It wasn't until the woman who told me more information about the person who put the bomb on her was blown up that I began to put two and two together.”

“Do you think Jarrod is as deranged?” she asked.

“I don't think so,” he replied. “He strikes me more as a loyal foot soldier than anything else. Unless he is M and then he's the one pulling the strings, but the foot soldier idea still applies because they would be strings Moriarty left in place for him to pull. It really could be either one at this rate, though I'm leaning more towards him being M simply because I think M wouldn't want more people knowing what he's doing than absolutely necessary.”

She nodded as he said that because it made sense. Still she had a question she wasn't sure she wanted to know the answer to. “Do you still think M is Moran?” she asked after a moment's pause.

He nodded. “I think the possibility that he is Moran is fairly great,” he said. “The only way to know for sure is to get him to talk. I think if he was captured he would talk, or at the very least talk to me. He's most likely got an ego similar to Moriarty's.”

She looked over at him. “I suppose you not liking him was spot on, then.”

“I suppose,” he said. He hesitated a moment, then moved as close as he could and put an arm around her shoulders. She leaned into him, shutting her eyes. “I didn't suspect he might be M. I just knew he irritated me in a way that others such as Anderson and Donovan did not. I didn't like or trust him at all.”

“It was probably a gut reaction,” she said.

“I usually don't follow those,” he replied thoughtfully. “Though maybe I should start to at least consider them when making decisions, or when I meet new people.”

“What do you think he'll do next?” she asked.

“Continue to attempt to get to us,” he said. “Now that the others have to return to London he'll expect us to not be far behind. There are a myriad of ways he can get us to come back, but I think the one he is most likely to go with is threatening to hurt our friends and finding a way to pass the message on to us. I would say Lestrade is the best target since he would have a way of getting a hold of me and he's injured, though Teague would be smart not to underestimate him. Using John is also an option.”

She lifted her head up and looked at him, pulling away slightly. “How much danger are they really in?”

He thought for a moment. “I think as long as John and Mrs. Hudson stick close to Baker Street, which I'm sure will be among Mycroft's instructions, they'll be safer than Lestrade. His home is not nearly as well protected. That's why Lestrade is the better target for whatever plan it is that Teague wants to set in motion.”

“I hate that we're here,” she said after a moment. “I hate that we're safe and they're not. I mean, I know why it's a good thing, but I hate it all the same.”

“I know,” he said. “I'm not fond of the circumstances myself. But I have the suspicion that this game is almost played out. Now we just need to make sure we're on the winning side.” She nodded, then leaned into him again. There was so much going on, so many people in danger, and so little the two of them could do about it all. This was the absolute worst thing that could have happened, and she felt so betrayed and sad and angry. She'd been fooled again, and this time for much longer and in what felt like a more pervasive way, and she felt so foolish. She knew she shouldn't, because he had fooled everyone and not just her, but she felt that way all the same. After a time Sherlock nudged her up. “I think you could use a distraction,” he said finally.

“I'm not really in the mood,” she said.

“Not that. I think there are a few films we haven't watched that interested you? We could attempt to watch one of those for now,” he said. “Let your mind be engaged by something that isn't all of this.”

“I suppose,” she said slowly. She leaned over and kissed his cheek softly. “Thank you.”

“For wanting to make sure you don't dwell on things?” he asked. She nodded. “You don't need to thank me for that.”

“Still, I want to. Maybe later, if I can get distracted enough, I can find a way to repay you,” she said with a small smile.

“Well, in a non-sexual way, I thought we had the ingredients for the individual beef wellingtons you made back at Baker Street. I would like that for supper tonight,” he said after a moment's thought.

“I can do that,” she said with a nod. “Putting that meal together will be a good distraction, too.”

He let go of her shoulders and stood up. “Let's go through the films and see what there is we actually want to watch. Do you want to change into pyjamas, at least?”

She looked down at what she was wearing. “I probably should. I'd be more comfortable.”

“Then I'll wait for you out in the sitting room,” he said as she stood up.

“All right,” she said with a nod. They both made their way out of his bedroom, and she went to the room next door to change. Hopefully this distraction would work, she thought to herself as she got dressed, or else she didn't know if her sanity would survive until the end of the game.


	16. Chapter 16

John called the two of them a few hours later and said they'd made it safely back to London. He and Mrs. Hudson were going to be staying at Baker Street as much as possible and Lestrade was planning on doing the same at his own home. While the two of them were relieved about that Mycroft called later with more disheartening news: Teague had not come back to London after tracking down the others, as far as Mycroft could tell, and he had no clue where the man was. Sherlock took the news well enough but all it did was put Molly on edge. When she and Sherlock finally went to sleep that evening it was a very fitful night's rest for her.

She woke up later the next morning in an empty bed. She was surprised by that, because ever since they had begun sharing a bed they had stayed in it until they were both awake. She sat up and stretched, taking a few minutes to do that, and then she got out of bed to put her dressing gown on over her pyjamas. When she was done she made her way to his bedroom first. She saw he wasn't there so she made her way to the sitting room and saw him sitting in the chair, keying in a text message to someone. “Did something happen?” she asked, moving to sit on the arm of his chair.

“Mycroft has been letting me know the progress that is being made on tracking Teague, which sadly isn't much,” he said. “With all the surveillance cameras in London it's leading us to believe he is not actually in London at the moment, or if he is he is well hidden.”

“Could he be here?” she asked, starting to panic.

He reached over for her hand as he shook his head. “I highly doubt it,” he said. “He has no way to track us and no one has said anything about where we are to anyone who didn't already know.”

“But they could. He could find a way to force them to,” she replied, her panic level rising.

“He could,” he conceded. “Right now Mycroft is working out a plan to deal with that if it happens.”

She was quiet for a long while. It was all so confusing and stressful, and it seemed as though it was going to be a cat and mouse game that could go on and on forever. It had to stop. “Is there any way we can draw him out? Because if this goes on much longer I don't think I'll get out of this with my sanity intact. I can't keep worrying about this.”

He shifted his hold on her hand and ran his thumb along her knuckles. “We can go back to London,” he said slowly. “Allow ourselves to be seen so any people he has watching for us will report to him that we've returned. It could be dangerous, though. I think since his plans have been continuously thwarted that could make him very unpredictable.”

“If I wasn't involved in this...” She stopped. “If it was John in my position, what would you do?” she asked.

“That's not a good comparison,” he said with a frown. “John is more than capable of handling himself. There wouldn't have been a need to hide ourselves because both of us would have faced the threat head on.”

“I know, but say he couldn't, for one reason or another. What would you have done?”

He thought for a moment. “If there was no other way to end the threat I would have talked him into allowing us to be used as bait. But only if there was no other option.”

“Is there another option? Realistically?” she asked.

“No,” he said quietly. “We can't stay hidden forever, and if we attempt to do this on our terms there is a greater chance we will all come out of this alive.”

“Then we should do it,” she said, her voice so soft she was sure he hadn't heard her. But then he straightened up and looked at her with wide eyes and she knew he had.

“Are you sure?” he asked finally.

“I am. I can't keep living this way. I'm not eating or sleeping well, not really, and I get worried for a longer period of time each time something happens. It's going to get to the point where I think all of this might do considerable damage to me that can't be fixed. I just want it to stop.”

After a moment's pause he nodded. “Then I'll tell Mycroft we're coming back to London today. When do you want to leave?”

“I suppose sooner rather than later,” she said.

“Do you want to eat some breakfast first?” he asked.

She shook her head. “I should, but I really don't have much of an appetite.”

“It's a long drive, and the less we need to stop the better,” he pointed out.

“All right. I'll eat now,” she said. She got off the arm of his chair and made to pull her hand away but he didn't let go. “Sherlock?”

“Are you absolutely sure you want to do this?” he asked.

“No, I'm not absolutely sure, but there's really no other choice.”

He remained quiet for a moment. “I am scared I'm going to lose you,” he said when he finally spoke. “Even if we go into this with the largest amount of preparation it can go horribly wrong.”

She reached over and gently touched his face. “We'll all just have to do our best to make sure that doesn't happen,” she said. “Because I don't want to lose you either.” Then she leaned over and kissed him softly. It seemed a bit more like a declaration of something, and for the moment she lost herself in the kiss.

When they pulled part she let go of his hand and moved behind the chair to head to the kitchen. He stood up a moment later. “Molly,” he said quietly.

“Yes?” she asked when he turned to face her.

“I have been examining exactly how I feel about you the last few days, and I think the plain fact is I am...” He trailed off for a moment. “I'm fairly sure I'm in love with you. I know I said I wouldn't say anything until I was absolutely sure, but with everything that is going on I felt you had the right to know now.”

She gave him a wide smile and moved in front of him, putting her arms around him. He embraced her back and held her close. “You admitting that much pleases me more than you could ever know,” she said. “When did you figure it out?”

“I think it was when I realized by going back I could lose you. I realized that I would be hurt more if I lost you than if I lost John or anyone else,” he said. 

“Well, feeling that way is usually a sign you love someone,” she said. “But if you still need more time to be sure take as much as you need. I'll wait.”

“Thank you,” he replied. “I think I've been feeling as though it is in fact love since you admitted how you felt, but more time to think on it will help.” He let go of her and she pulled away from him. “You should eat soon.”

“I'm just going to have cereal and toast,” she said. “And coffee, if you made some.”

“I did,” he said with a nod. “I can make you a cup as you get your breakfast sorted.”

“Thank you,” she said with a nod. They made their way into the kitchen, and once Sherlock had made her coffee for her he got on his phone and called Mycroft. Molly could tell from Sherlock's end of the conversation Mycroft was surprised by the change of plans but eventually he was made to see there was no other course of action to take. Molly ate her breakfast even though she really wasn't very hungry. She knew that it was in her best interest to eat it but everything tasted like sawdust in her mouth.

When she was done eating she went to her room and packed up her belongings. She did so quickly, pausing only when she picked up her broken jewelry box. She fingered the crack in the stained glass and then put it away, padding it carefully so it didn't break any more. She finished five minutes later and then made her way out to the sitting room, where she saw Sherlock putting a book in his bag. “Is that the book about the female pirates?” she asked with a small smile.

“It had more biographies than the book you let me borrow did,” he said with a nod. “I enjoyed reading it, and I don't think Mycroft will be upset if one book comes home with me.” He gestured to the box the books Mycroft had specifically sent for her had come in. “You can always add more books to that box. There is room, after all.”

She shook her head. “I enjoyed far too many of them. I'll simply add them to my wish list of books I want to own.”

“If you tell me what some of them are I may purchase them for you,” he said.

“Those would make nice gifts,” she replied. She let go of the handles of her two pieces of wheeled luggage. “As soon as I get my other piece of luggage I'm ready to leave.”

“Then we'll leave immediately,” he said. “We'll need to stop for petrol but that should only take a few minutes. When we arrive in London we need to head directly to Mycroft's home. He has things he needs to discuss with me that he wants to do in person.”

She nodded. “And then we'll go back to Baker Street?”

“As far as I know that is the plan,” he replied. “We're working under the assumption that he has someone watching my home and will be alerted when we return. We may need to move about London to make sure he realizes that, though.”

“Is that going to be safe?” she asked worriedly.

“I was planning on going out alone most of the time until he makes it known that he knows we're back. It will keep you safer that way. John has taken an indefinite leave from his post until this is all settled. He'll keep you and Mrs. Hudson safe until we can draw Teague out.” He moved closer to her as he spoke. “We will end this as quickly as we can.”

She looked at him intently as he moved next to her. “Promise me you won't let yourself get hurt if you can help it. I mean, to the best of your ability.”

“I promise I will do everything I can to stay safe,” he said. He put one of his bags on his shoulder and then picked up the violin case before going to her luggage and grabbing the handle of the largest one. “Go get the rest of your luggage. I'll meet you at the car.”

“All right,” she said with a nod. She went back to her room and got her third piece of luggage and then went and got her other piece of wheeled luggage. She took them both outside to the car and he loaded up the car boot with the luggage before going in for his last bag and the box of books. After it was situated they got in and headed away from the safe house and back to London, stopping only for more petrol. Nearly four hours later they were pulling up to a building that Molly thought really did resemble a fortress of sorts. Sherlock had called his brother when they were nearly there and so Anthea was standing outside waiting for them. “Don't you feel like you could be a target?” Molly asked her.

Anthea shook her head. “Mycroft has ensured that no one would be able to position a sniper anywhere in the proximity of his home. Not even Moran could shoot someone here.” She turned to Sherlock then. “He wants to speak to both of you.”

Sherlock nodded. “He's in his study?”

“Yes,” she replied.

“I know the way.” Anthea turned and went back in, pausing at the door. As Sherlock set the alarm on the car Molly gave him a slightly worried look and he gave her a slight smile in return. “No one will do any harm to your belongings. This is probably one of the safest areas of London.”

“If you're sure,” he said as they made their way towards his home. When they got to the door Anthea moved out of the way and they stepped inside. Molly looked around in awe. “He must have quite a bit of money.”

“We both got rather large inheritances when we were younger,” Sherlock said. “He invested his whereas I did not. His position also pays quite well, since for all intents and purposes he is the government. There are very few people in the country that he has to answer to, and they're all attached to the royal family. He actually has more power than the prime minister, to be honest.”

“I never realized that,” she said.

“The position he tells people he has is not his actual position in the government,” he replied. “Well, it _is_ one of his positions, but not the most important one. He is actually one of the most powerful people in the world who is not a sovereign leader or directly attached to one.”

“So is that why he can get away with doing whatever he wants?” she asked.

He nodded. “It would probably take a direct order from the Queen or the prime minister to get him to stop, and since they approve of what he does they lets him continue to do as he pleases.”

Her eyes widened. “Has he actually met the Queen before?”

“I think he has a few times. Normally he deals with her head of staff. I met him once, when the government asked me to look into a case of blackmail against a member of the royal family. He has power Mycroft can only dream of. I think the man intimidated him.” Then he grinned slightly. “It was more amusing because I entered into the meeting wearing nothing more than a sheet.”

“Why on earth would you meet with him wearing a sheet?”

“Because Mycroft sent men to come get me at my home and they interfered with a case I was working at the time,” he said with a slight shrug. “Since I was so rudely summoned to the palace I decided to tweak my brother's nose for being a prat.”

She stopped and stared at him. “You were in _Buckingham Palace_ in nothing more than a sheet?”

“I did eventually change into a suit,” he said.

She shook her head as they began to move again. “I'm rather shocked by that.”

He gave her a small grin. “I think you might have been more shocked by the fact Mycroft stepped on my sheet when I tried to leave. If my reflexes weren't as quick as they are I would have been stark naked. He was quite annoyed with me that day.”

“I'd be annoyed with you too if you showed up in a sheet to an important meeting.”

“But I don't think you would have stepped on the sheet.” He stopped outside a door a moment later and opened it, motioning for Molly to go inside. She did, and she looked around the room with the same sense of awe she'd had when she entered the home. “I'm surprised you didn't just have me meet you at the Diogenes Club, Mycroft,” he said to his brother when he shut the door behind them.

“Unless you could convince Molly to dress as a well-appointed man there would have been no point, because she needs to know what has happened since you left the safe house. It does concern her as well,” Mycroft said without looking up from the laptop screen in front of him.

“Why would I need to dress as a man?” she asked Sherlock quietly.

“It's a club that caters to gentlemen. Not the lurid type in the States with the half-naked dancers, but members of the aristocracy,” Sherlock replied. “They absolutely abhor being reminded women exist.”

“Yes, until they go home to their wives and mistresses,” Mycroft said.

“And until you go home to Anthea,” Sherlock said. “Who is the only woman who would willingly do anything you asked so long as it's not romantic in nature.”

“We are not getting into that discussion again,” Mycroft said, lifting his head up and glaring at his brother. “And you had best not tell Molly about it.”

Sherlock had a gleam in his eye and a smirk on his lips. “I'll talk to my girlfriend about whatever I want. If you talked to _her_ then perhaps you would have a girlfriend to talk to about whatever you want.”

“My personal life is none of your concern, and there's no truth to it anyway,” Mycroft said, rolling his eyes. “Anthea is a lesbian who is in a more open relationship with a member of the Queen's staff.” He paused. “For now, at least. I don't know how soon we will get what we need from that relationship. I believe her next assignment is to woo a dashing young Earl before he sells state secrets for pocket change at the races.”

“You use her to date people to get state secrets,” Sherlock said with an approving nod. “And the whole world thinks they will get some intimate secrets about her _real_ lover: you. But that's all part of the lie.”

“She feeds specific information to the targets so they think they are moving in one direction towards whatever plan they may have while she tells me every detail of the plan. Then when I can determine the best time to blow the plan up Anthea instigates a heartbroken break-up and is gone before all of the really interesting things begin to happen. We worked out this system when she became my assistant fifteen years ago. She enjoys getting to keep the gifts she is given and turning the tables on some truly rotten people and I enjoy all of the unbridled access to secrets that are being kept from the government. It also helps keep secrets the government doesn't want known safe.”

“And she's agreed to this?” Molly asked, surprised.

Mycroft nodded. “She enjoys what she gets out of the relationships she has to enter into. She is not the type of person to enjoy long term romantic relationships.”

“Was she in one with Irene?” Sherlock asked curiously.

“No,” Mycroft said. “They were simply friends.”

“Ah,” Sherlock said.

“That is the one time I've really been cross with her,” Mycroft said. “That helped ruin a perfectly good plan since Irene got you to show off.” Then he paused. “But it's not important. I got her secrets and I've been making use of them so it worked out in the end, I suppose.”

“Now I can see why they said you're so powerful,” Molly said in awe. “I'm almost afraid to see what plans you have that involve me.”

“My plans are for you to go back to a normal life, to keep my brother in line because he'll listen to you more than anyone else, and make sure he's happy and that you're happy. If he becomes unhappy I will step in and fix it so you don't have to. If you become unhappy I'll make his life miserable until he shapes up. And I want to see a wedding somewhere down the line. Possibly children as well.”

“You have our whole lives plotted out,” Sherlock said snidely, rolling his eyes.

“Do you see anything wrong with being happy in a relationship that might actually lead to marriage? Surely you must have considered it,” Mycroft said.

“Doesn't she get any say at all?” Sherlock said.

“Is there anything in that plan you do not approve of, Molly?” Mycroft asked as he turned to face her.

“No?” she replied hesitantly. It had been thrust on her quickly but since that was more or less what she had wanted she wouldn't argue with.

“So you're the only holdout,” Mycroft said to his brother. “You'll get used to it eventually. But don't take too long. Molly is good for you and I don't want her to leave you a blubbering shell of a man if she tires of waiting.”

“I hate you right now, Mycroft,” Sherlock said as he scowled at him.

“Duly noted,” Mycroft said. Then he stood up and picked up an envelope. He brought it over to Sherlock, who looked at it. “Teague left a threat. No elaborate packages this time. He says he wants to meet you at five PM tonight at Paddington Street Gardens. Specifically you are to be at the children's playground in the south garden. Failure to be there will result in the deaths of Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson and John.”

“I'll go there alone,” Sherlock said as he opened the note and read it.

“Why?” Molly asked, looking over at the note as Sherlock read it. “He wants both of us, not just you.”

“Because this way I have a better chance of stopping him if I don't have to worry about you,” he said quietly, turning to face her for a moment.

“He'll kill you,” she said.

“I don't think he will,” Mycroft said as he sat back down in his chair. Sherlock turned back to look at him. “He has an obsession with Molly that Lestrade said was evident in the conversations he's had with Teague lately. I do not think he will kill Sherlock because he would rather have her.”

“Why does he want me so badly?” Molly asked.

“I think there is something about you that intrigues him,” Sherlock said. “He sees you as someone more important than Moriarty did. He just did a good job hiding it until I returned. I imagine at some point it would have become more evident to you. He would have started to arrange to spend time with you away from Lestrade and the others. If it grew enough it could have been the beginning of a romantic attraction, if he's not a full blown psychopath.”

“Take precautions when you meet with him,” Mycroft said. “And try your best not to shoot him in public if you can.”

“I will do my best,” Sherlock said with a nod. “Is that all?”

“Yes,” Mycroft said, turning back to the laptop screen. “Remember, five PM.”

Sherlock looked at Molly and nodded towards the door. They made their way back out of the study and towards the front door. “You're really going to go alone?” she asked quietly.

“It's the best option,” he said, moving closer to her as they walked. “I would prefer to keep you safe.”

“But if you show up alone he could hurt you. Or you and your brother could both be wrong and he could kill you.” She stopped and looked at him intently. “Please don't go alone. Let me come with you. You can ask Greg to go to Baker Street and John to provide back-up but please, let me go as well.”

“Molly...” he said.

She straightened up as much as she could. “I'll find a way to sneak out if you try to keep me at your home and go to that meeting regardless,” she said. “I'm not going to let you run the risk of being killed by him.”

“I'm not going to be able to talk you out of this, am I?” he asked quietly.

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “I need you to be safe, Sherlock, or at least as safe as you can possibly be. If he does have an obsession with me, more than he has one with you, he'll be less angry and less retaliatory if I'm there as well.”

He was quiet for a few moments. “Mycroft isn't going to like this,” he said finally.

“I know. But it's the best solution.” She began to move again and he followed. “It's already two PM. Any plans we want to make should be made soon.”

Sherlock nodded and came up closer to her. “Very well,” he replied. They lapsed into silence as they made their way out of Mycroft's home, and Molly fervently began hoping in her head that she really was doing the right thing by going with Sherlock. It all had the potential to get incredibly messy and dangerous, but there really wasn't any choice, and she hated that most of all.


	17. Chapter 17

Mycroft was indeed not happy with the change of plans, but once Molly explained her reasoning and then threatened to leave Baker Street again if Sherlock went alone he conceded it would be best if she went with his brother. He made arrangements to help them, and John and Greg agreed to do whatever they could to help end this whole mess before it went any further. Molly knew that they were going into the meeting with the best chances of surviving it and not being seriously harmed, but the closer it got to five the more nervous Molly became. Sooner than she would have liked she and Sherlock made their way outside of his home and began to walk there. It wasn't a very long walk, and the entire time Molly held onto his hand tightly.

When they got there they made their way to the play structure. Children were playing on it, and Jarrod was sitting on a bench, watching them with his hands in the pockets of his coat. He had dyed his hair black and there was the beginnings of a beard on his face, and Molly was struck at just how different he was from the man she had thought she knew so well. When they got into his line of sight he stood, waiting for them to join him. “It must be nice to have a typical childhood,” he said, gesturing to a child on the swings when they got close enough.

“I wouldn't know,” Sherlock said with a shrug. “I didn't have one.”

“But I'm sure Molly did,” he said, turning to her. “Was it nice?”

“I suppose it was,” she replied quietly.

“I don't want to deprive the children over there of a normal childhood,” he said, moving his coat out of the way slightly to show he had a gun in a shoulder holster. “But if you try anything I won't hesitate to shoot you both, children around or not.”

Sherlock nodded. “Of course.”

Jarrod put his hand out. “Both of you give me your mobiles. I don't want anyone interrupting our chat. And before we move to our final destination I'll pat you both down, just to be safe.”

Sherlock dug his out of his coat pocket and handed it to him. “Molly didn't bring hers,” he said.

Jarrod came over to her. “Just to be sure I'm going to check. But not here.”

She nodded. She didn't have her mobile, that was true, but Mycroft had sent over a small tracking beacon that she had hidden in her bra. Mrs. Hudson had sewn it into a pouch on the inside of the cup so unless she had to take her bra off he wouldn't find it. “That's fine,” she said.

He nodded towards the exit closest to them. “Let's take a walk.”

Sherlock and Molly walked two steps ahead of him as they all made their way to the exit. At the closest rubbish bin Jarrod tossed Sherlock's mobile into it. “Before we have this chat, answer a question for me,” Sherlock said. “Are you really Moran?”

“Yes,” he said with a nod. “Sebastian Jarrod Moran. I'm surprised you actually had to ask that question, really. You're supposed to be a genius.”

“And I suppose you're the elusive man in charge that I couldn't take down,” Sherlock said.

“Of course. Jim trusted me more than he trusted anyone else in the world. He had every reason to because I proved my loyalty time and again.”

Molly glanced back at him and saw he looked angry, as though Moriarty's suicide still upset him. “Did you know what he was going to do on that roof?” she asked.

“I had a feeling he might if Sherlock didn't do what he was told,” Moran said. “His obsession with Sherlock was something he'd had in the entire twenty years I knew him. It started when you stuck your nose into the Carl Powers murder and then it just grew from there.” They left Paddington Street Gardens and he motioned for them to go to the right. As soon as they got to an alley he gestured for them to go into it. They went far away from the street before he stopped them. He went over to Sherlock and stood in front of him. “Take off your coat.”

Sherlock took off his coat and handed it to Molly. Moran began to pat him down and Molly saw he was being thorough. She began to worry he'd ask her to remove articles of clothing to thoroughly check her. When he finished he looked at Sherlock. “I could have told you I wouldn't be foolish enough to bring a weapon,” he said as Molly handed him back his coat.

“Better safe than sorry,” Moran replied. Then he turned to Molly. “Your turn.” Molly took off her coat and handed it to Moran. He checked all the pockets and then handed it to Sherlock. Moran then moved in front of her and began patting her down just as thoroughly as he had done to Sherlock. Soon enough he was done and he stepped back again, apparently satisfied. Sherlock handed Molly her coat back and she slipped it back on. “I'm glad the two of you were smart about all of this.”

“We had no reason to be stupid,” Sherlock said. “All that would have done was get innocent people hurt or killed.”

“I'm still surprised you care about people other than yourself. Or other than John, I suppose,” Moran said. “Two years ago I had thought for sure you would defy Jim's wishes and you'd let them all die. I had assumed Jim said something quite convincing about John to get you to fall off that roof. I knew the others were threatened, but I'd thought they weren't as important to you. But this whole affair has showed me the personality changes were more pervasive. Too bad it has to end this way. I'm fairly sure the world could have greatly enjoyed a Sherlock Holmes who was a good man and not a massive twat.”

“So the end game is killing us,” Sherlock murmured.

“That was always Jim's end game for you,” he replied. “Molly's just collateral damage.”

“You could spare her, you know,” Sherlock said. “She interests you. I gather you might actually regret killing her if you follow through with that plan. Not because you actually _like_ her, but because she fascinates you.”

Moran thought for a moment. “That is true,” he said finally. “And you knowing that she'll never be free of me again would make up for the joy I'd get killing her in front of you.”

Molly straightened up at that. “I'd rather die,” she said, glaring at him.

“That's perfectly acceptable to me,” Moran said with a nod. He gestured to the mouth of the alley. “Leave the alley and take a left. There's a van waiting.”

Sherlock and Molly walked in front of him again. They went to the left, back towards the park entrance, and she saw a black van waiting. “That's the van?” she asked.

“Yes,” he replied. “Into the back, Sherlock in first.”

Sherlock opened the door and then got inside. Molly followed as Moran went around to get into the passenger side seat. Once he was in he looked at the two men who were sitting behind Sherlock and Molly. “I'm not particularly chatty anymore,” he said to them. A moment later the man behind her grabbed her head and she felt the needle of a syringe break her skin in the side of her neck. Moran turned around and as the van began to drive away she slowly sank into a black oblivion until she wasn't conscious anymore.

She wasn't sure how long it was before she came too again, but she had been at an odd angle and as she lifted her head up she realized it felt heavy. She tried to lift her arms up to rub the kinks out of her neck but those felt heavy too. After a few moments she managed to lift her arms up and massage her neck slightly. When she was able to move her head better she looked around and saw she was in a small windowless room and someone was sitting in a chair in the darkest part of the room. Sherlock was to her left but he still appeared to be passed out. “Sherlock,” she said, moving over to him. She stumbled slightly as she moved but eventually she made it over to him, checking for a pulse.

“I didn't have him given enough to kill him,” she heard Moran say from the chair. He stood up and moved over to them. “You're a medical doctor. You know larger people need more sedatives to knock them out.”

“He had best wake up soon,” she said, glaring at him again.

“He will. Eventually.” Moran squatted down next to her and reached over to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. She felt as though she wanted to be sick, and she wasn't sure if it was a side effect of the drug or because he had done something so intimate. It could have easily been a bit of both. “It's a shame I'm going to end up killing you,” he said. “You really are quite fascinating.”

“Why did you do all of this?” she asked. “I mean, why pretend to be a policeman?”

“I actually didn't pretend,” he said. “I went through all of the training and certifications, passed all of the exams on my own. Jim had laid this plan out long before Sherlock even knew there was a game to play. This was part of his plan from the beginning: stay close to as many of you as I could if the worst happened. That's why my kill count has been significantly lower the last few years. I've been too busy being an upstanding member of Scotland Yard.” He reached over to cup her chin but she pulled away. He scowled at her in response and pulled his hand away. “Jim was right. You really are devoted to him. It's actually rather pathetic.”

“Well, he hasn't harassed me or threatened me or lied to me so obviously he's the better choice,” she said defiantly.

“You actually do have a backbone,” he said with a nod. “Jim was so sure you weren't a threat. I told him anyone close to Sherlock could be a threat. He should have listened to me.” He stood up again. “As soon as Sherlock wakes up I'm going to shoot you. No sense in doing it until he's awake since I want him to watch. And I'll shoot you in a way that will make your death drawn out and extremely painful. He'll get to sit here and watch you die and he won't be able to stop it, just like I couldn't stop Jim.”

“You were the sniper trained on John?” she asked, her eyes wide.

He nodded. “Jim trusted me the most. I mean, that's obvious because he left me in charge. But when it came to this he wanted me to be able to finish his game for him. If Sherlock didn't die then I was supposed to kill John and then kill him. I don't think the order would have mattered to Jim as long as they were both dead, though I think he would have preferred making Sherlock watch his best mate die while knowing it was all his fault.” He paused. “I probably should have done it anyway, to be honest.”

“You're a monster,” she said.

“No, I'm a pragmatist,” he replied. “Neutralize all the threats and then move on. If I'd done that then none of this would have been necessary. Sherlock never would have gone after the organization if you were the only one left alive. Chances are at John's death he would have sunk back into the depths of addiction. In Jim's grand scheme of things you were the one that didn't matter. You were that unimportant.” He moved back to his seat and sat down. “So now let's wait for him to wake up, shall we?”

Molly really began to panic. She had no clue if John and Lestrade were going to be able to find them, or if she'd already be seriously injured if they did. This could very well be the last few minutes she was alive, and she needed to stall as long as she could. She moved slightly, pretending to cry over Sherlock's inert body. After a moment she stopped making a loud sobbing noise. “If you're awake don't show it,” she whispered. Then she went back to pretending to sob for a few more minutes before she sat up again. “You can't get away with this.”

“I'm simply going to kill all of your friends once the two of you are gone,” he said, and even in the shadows she could see him cross his arms. “And Sherlock's brother and his assistant as well, just because they think they're untouchable. And then I'm going to disappear, go back to running the organization and killing people who are threats. I'll make it better than when Jim was in charge because then I won't have some puffed up genius trying to take it all apart.”

Molly was going to respond when she heard shouting down the hall. Moran quickly got out of the chair and went to the door. After a moment of listening he went over to Molly again and roughly pulled her up by her arm. “Let me go!” she yelled.

“I don't know how your friends got here but I'm going to use you to get out of here,” he said, trying to pull her towards the door. She retaliated by taking her heel and stomping down hard on his foot. He let go of her arm and pulled his gun out of the holster, aiming it at her. “You little bitch,” he said. “I should shoot you both now and be done with it.”

She froze completely as the door burst open and John advanced on the two of them, leveling a gun at Moran. “I'd lower that if I were you,” John said coldly.

Moran scoffed. “I'm a better shot than you and we both know it.”

“Well, right now you have your gun aimed at _her_ and I have my gun aimed at _you_ ,” John countered. “I think I have the advantage here.”

“What's to stop me from shooting her first?” Moran asked.

“A bullet to the head, maybe?” John replied. “Do you _really_ want to argue with me about this? You can lower your gun and live another day or you can attempt to shoot her and die in a derelict warehouse and not a single person will mourn you.” Moran risked a glance at Sherlock, then quickly changed his aim to Sherlock and fired a shot. A split second later John took his shot as Molly screamed. Moran clutched his chest and after a moment dropped to the floor. “Well, apparently my aim isn't as good as it used to be,” John murmured as he saw the blood seeping through Moran's shirt.

“And his was off too,” Sherlock said groggily from the floor. “If he was aiming for my head he missed.”

“Sherlock!” Molly said with relief as she knelt down next to him. She was pleased until she saw the hole in the arm of his coat and the blood seeping through. “He still hit you.”

“In the arm, though, which is definitely not an area that can kill me,” he said, sitting up. “As soon as I can get the bleeding to stop I'll be fine, Molly.”

She nodded and then looked over at John, who had been checking Moran for a pulse. “Give me your shirt.” John nodded as well and then took off his jumper before peeling off his shirt. He handed it to her and she grasped it in her hands, tearing off a long strip from the bottom. Once she had it she wrapped the fabric around Sherlock's arm, tying it off. Then she carefully threw her arms around his neck when he was fully upright. “He could have killed you,” she said, her voice muffled because her mouth was near the crook of his neck.

“John rattled him enough that he got sloppy,” Sherlock said as he gingerly embraced her back. “Moran took a risk without fully thinking it through and it backfired.” He pulled away from her after holding her for a few minutes. “You took a more calculated risk by telling me not to act as though I was awake. Playing dead was the best thing I could have done.”

There were footsteps outside in the hallway. “John?” Lestrade called out from farther away.

“I found them,” John called back. “Sherlock needs medical attention but they're both alive.”

“Oh thank God,” Lestrade said as he got to the doorway. He was followed inside by four armed policemen who were ready to shoot anything that moved, but once they realized the threat was taken care of they lowered their guns. Lestrade came closer and took in the sight in front of him. “I think I'm going to have to talk to the paramedics because Molly's not going to leave his side, is she?”

“No, I'm not,” she said, turning to look at him. “It would not be a very good idea to try and make me, either.”

“We were both drugged with sedatives,” Sherlock said. “She should be taken to a hospital to be checked out as well.”

Lestrade nodded. “I'll let the paramedics know,” he said. “As it stands there is a very large group of people outside with what I'm sure are a million questions to be asked. I'll see if I can stall them for the two of you until tomorrow.”

“How many casualties were there?” Sherlock asked.

“I had three, counting this one,” John said. Then he looked at Lestrade. “You?”

“Six,” he replied. “There wasn't a single survivor because none of them were smart enough to surrender. But I'm not going to lose much sleep over it, to be honest, mostly because the one behind it all is dead.” The sound of approaching sirens filled the air. “We might as well go outside, show everyone you two are alive and well.”

Molly nodded and stood up, and once she was standing she helped Sherlock stand up. She put a steadying arm around his waist before turning to Greg. “Don't you need your cane?” she asked.

“Oh, my body's going to make me regret this in the morning, but I wasn't about to not come rescue you. Had to make sure nothing happened to either of you.”

“Thank you,” Sherlock said. “Both of you.”

“Hey, we're two of your closest friends,” John said with a grin. “You'd have done the same if positions had been reversed.” 

“Still,” Sherlock said. “It is greatly appreciated.” He took a step and stumbled slightly, and John came over and supported him on the other side. Molly let go as Sherlock leaned on John and soon the people in the room began to file out. Molly hadn't realized night had fallen but it was dark when they finally got outside the warehouse and the whole area was filled with flashing police lights. John led Sherlock to the back of an ambulance, and Lestrade put it in strongly worded terms that Molly and Sherlock were to share the same ambulance to the nearest hospital. After the paramedics looked at his arm he and Molly sat on the same stretcher as the driver shut the doors of the ambulance. “It's all over,” he said quietly, reaching over for her hand.

“I know,” she said, leaning into his uninjured side. He let go of her hand and put an arm around her shoulders to keep her close. “We can finally get past all of this.”

He was quiet for a few minutes as the ambulance began to leave the scene. “Do you still wish to be in a relationship with me?” he asked.

She pulled away from him. “Of course I do, Sherlock. Why wouldn't I want to be?”

“I just wanted to be sure,” he said.

She framed his face in her hands and leaned in to kiss him softly. When they pulled apart he rested his forehead against hers. “I still love you, Sherlock. That hasn't changed. Have your feelings changed since this morning?”

“No,” he said. “But I just needed to know.”

“Well, I told you I'd tell you as often as you wanted to hear it,” she said softly. “I didn't lie about that. So any time you need to hear it tell me and I'll tell you that I love you. All right?”

He gave the barest of nods. “All right.” She pulled away slightly and then shifted to put her head on his shoulder. It was all over, they were both alive, and at the end of the day they were still in this relationship and finally, _finally_ , she could stop being scared and actually more on from this entire horrific ordeal.


	18. Chapter 18

Molly and Sherlock did not spend too long at the hospital, only a few hours. The doctors determined Sherlock had not been seriously injured by the bullet, and after stitching up the wound and checking them both to see if there were any ill effects of the sedative they were sent back home. The minute they got inside the home on Baker Street they made a beeline for Molly's room and went to sleep fully clothed, the events of the evening having worn them out. The next morning Molly woke up and she stretched as much as she was able with Sherlock's arm locked around her waist. His response to that was to pull her closer. “I take it you're awake?” she asked in an amused tone.

“Yes,” he said quietly. “I've been awake for about an hour.”

“I must have been more exhausted than I thought,” she said with a frown.

“No, it's only around seven,” he said. “I just had an unpleasant dream and wasn't able to return to sleep.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asked.

He was quiet for a moment. “I replayed the events towards the end of our encounter with Moran, but instead of aiming for me he shot you instead,” he said quietly. “We were unable to save you.”

“I'm so sorry,” she said, turning to face him once he loosened his grip. She reached over to touch his face, cupping his cheek in her palm. “Eventually I hope we stop having nightmares about all of this. But the one nice thing is we won't be waking up in a bed all by ourselves. If you have a bad dream you can wake me up and I can help try and make things better.”

“And I will do the same for you,” he said. He began running his hand up and down her waist. “Are you hungry?”

“Starved,” she said with a smile. “Do we want to eat breakfast now?”

“I think that would be a good idea,” he said. “Neither of us ate much yesterday.”

“All right. Do you want me to cook?”

“I would appreciate it,” he said, removing his hand from her waist so she could get out of bed. She rolled back over and then sat up. Sherlock moved over to the door as she stretched again and stood up. He went to open the door and then paused. “Someone is already up.”

“Are they cooking?” she asked as she joined him at the door.

He nodded. “Can't you smell the food?”

She sniffed the air and realized she smelled bacon and sausage. “I wonder what else they're making,” she said.

“There's only one way to find out,” he said as he opened the door. The two of them made their way towards the kitchen and saw John at the table and Mrs. Hudson at the stove. “I suppose it's an early day for all of us,” he said to the others.

Mrs. Hudson turned from what she was doing and gave Sherlock and Molly a smile. “Well, I thought with everything the two of you would be starving and it might be nice if you didn't have to cook.”

“I was going to do it but she shooed me out of the kitchen,” John said with a grin. “The plan was to let the two of you stay in bed and eat. Rest up a bit and just relax.”

“I'd much rather eat out here with both of you,” Molly said as she went over to Mrs. Hudson and embraced her. “Thank you so much, Mrs. Hudson.”

“You're quite welcome, dear,” she said, embracing her back. When Molly pulled away she went back to cooking the pancakes she had been making. “I suppose since this is all over you'll be returning to your home now.”

“I'm not entirely sure,” Molly said. “Sherlock and I talked while we were gone and we've decided we want to keep residing with each other. We need to discuss where we want to live, but I'm inclined to stay here if you will let me.”

“You want to give up your home to live here?” Mrs. Hudson asked, surprised.

“This place has become home too,” she replied.

“Well, if you want to stay of course you can stay,” Mrs. Hudson said with a wide grin.

“You really want to stay here?” Sherlock asked Molly.

“Yes, I do,” she said with a nod. “This is your home and you've been away from it for a long time. And I really do like it here. I know it will be different with John gone, but I think it's a good idea regardless.”

“About that,” John said slowly. “Mrs. Hudson and I spoke at length about things while we were in Leeds. I pay an arm and a leg for rent for a place I'm not too happy with. And I've realized I've missed being here. This place became home to me, too. She asked me to stay and I've considered it and I want to, if that's all right with the two of you.”

Sherlock looked over to Molly, who nodded. “It looks as though you'll be having a full house, Mrs. Hudson,” he said. “I hope that's what you really want.”

“I do,” she said. “This place was far too quiet with you and John gone, and it's been so wonderful having all of you here, even if it hasn't been for the best reason. We can talk specifics later but just know that the three of you wanting to stay has made me incredibly happy.”

Sherlock went over to her and kissed her cheek. “Then I'm glad we're all staying.”

“John, Molly, if you have furniture you want to bring over for the sitting room or cookware for the kitchen you're more than welcome to,” she said. “We can move my things down to the basement or sell them if it comes down to it.”

“My furniture in my sitting room is crap,” John said. “My bedroom set was the only worthwhile furniture I owned, and the set I have here that Mycroft got me is infinitely better. But I do have some decent cookware.”

“I would love to bring over my things,” Molly said as she pulled down a mug and began to make a cup of coffee. “I'm rather attached to all of it.”

“It is quite comfortable,” Sherlock said with a nod. “Some of it is even more comfortable than what is already here. And you have high quality cookware, which I know John will appreciate.”

“Just because we're living together again does not mean I'll be doing all the cooking,” John said, shaking his head. “I know you can cook. It's coffee you never make right.”

“My coffee is perfectly fine,” Sherlock said in a slightly defensive tone. “Molly can vouch for that.”

“It's a bit stronger than what I would normally drink, but it isn't too bad,” she said with a smile. “But when it comes to cooking I don't mind doing that when I can. I love to cook.”

“That's right. You'll be going back to your post soon,” John said.

“Actually, I'm considering trying my hand at something new,” she said, moving to the refrigerator to get what she needed to make her coffee. “I think with everything that's happened I need a change. I have quite a bit in savings and Mycroft ensured I was given more than what I actually earned while all of this was going on. And if I'm moving in here I'll be selling my home so I'll have money coming in from that eventually. I can afford to take some time to figure out what I want to do.”

“What were you considering?” Sherlock asked after she finished setting up her coffee. He began to make up his own cup once she moved out of the way.

“Well, I would love to write a novel or two,” she said. “I started to and I have about fifty-five thousand words written of it. And I've also enjoyed helping you as your assistant. It's much more interesting being that active in solving a case instead of just doing the autopsies. Other than that I'm not sure.”

“I would like it very much if you would continue to assist me,” Sherlock said as he moved to get the sugar for his coffee. “You offer an insight that John has not been able to when you view a crime scene.”

“That's because she's a pathologist and I'm not,” he pointed out. “But I'm glad you want to keep doing that. I'm not really inclined to go back into that field, and Sherlock really does work better with a partner than he does on his own.” He looked over at her as she came to the table. “If you want someone to look over your novel I'd be willing. What genre is it?”

“Murder mystery,” she said. “I've had so many interesting autopsies over the years that I've got a lot for the basis of a series of stories. And I'm sure Sherlock can continue to help me with technical details if I ask nicely enough.”

“I will help you in any way I can,” he said with a nod as he joined them at the table. “Just remember to dedicate the book to me.”

“And what am I, chopped liver?” John asked, though he had a grin on his face.

“You and Greg and Mrs. Hudson can get dedications too,” Molly said with a chuckle. “I'm allowed to thank more than one person, and you're all quite dear to me.”

“I would be absolutely pleased to get a dedication in a book,” Mrs. Hudson said. “I'll brag about it to all my friends when it gets to be a best seller.”

“You're assuming I'm good enough to become the next PD James,” Molly said before taking a sip of her coffee. “I could be completely horrible at it.”

“What I read wasn't bad at all,” Sherlock said.

Molly stared at him. “And just when did you read my novel?”

“Before you set down the ground rules when we were residing at your home. I got bored one evening,” he said. “It could use a little work but your main character is quite compelling, if quite a bit nicer than I am in real life.” He took a sip of his coffee. “I couldn't imagine being that understanding towards an incompetent policeman, to be honest. But everything else was believable.”

“And I suppose there is a character based on you, dear?” Mrs. Hudson asked Molly as she began to bring food to the table. “The love interest, perhaps?”

“Possibly,” she said with a smile. “If it doesn't seem like art imitating life. I mean, I could always base the pathologist on John and the assistant on me.” She paused then. “Which I suppose is also art imitating life, in a way.”

“As long as you make any character based on me interesting I'm sure it will be fine,” Mrs. Hudson said as she went back into the kitchen to get more food.

“Is there going to be one based on Mycroft?” John asked with a grin. “An uptight bureaucrat with an agenda of his own?”

“I was considering it,” she said, getting up to get plates and eating utensils for the four of them. “But then it might not be believable.”

“And Mycroft might be cross,” Sherlock said as the front door opened. “Or at least he might if she portrays him in a negative light.”

“Oh, it wouldn't be in a negative light if I did,” she replied. “He'd be mysterious but ultimately a good person, if I ever wrote more than one story.” After a moment footsteps were heard coming up the stairs and both Lestrade and Mycroft entered the sitting room. “Good morning, Greg. Mycroft.”

“It would have been a better morning if I hadn't been roused from my sleep,” Lestrade said, grumbling slightly. “Mycroft was most insistent I be here this morning.”

“I didn't want to have to go over all of this twice,” Mycroft said urbanely.

“Well, both of you come sit at the table,” Mrs. Hudson said, bringing over more food. “I made enough to feed a small army.”

“Thank you,” Lestrade said, sitting down at the table. Molly pulled out another plate and then looked at Mycroft, who shook his head. She got out the eating utensils and then brought it all to the table. Soon enough the people at the table began to serve themselves as Mrs. Hudson joined them. When they were done Lestrade looked over at Mycroft. “All right. We're all here, we're about to be fed, and you've probably got more important things to do with your day. What's going on that you needed to talk to all of us at once?”

Mycroft moved closer to the table and then sat down in the empty chair. “The organization is beginning to fall apart,” he said. “There were things in the works that Moran ignored since he shot Lestrade and then tried to ascertain Sherlock and Molly's whereabouts, and his underlings have started to realize that no one is there to make the big decisions. We have decided to refrain from mentioning that Moran was in charge of a criminal empire in reports of what happened.”

“We being the government,” Sherlock said as he took a bite of his food.

“Several governments, but yes,” Mycroft said with a nod. “The lurid scandal of an upstanding policeman who moonlighted as the infamous assassin known simply as Moran is more than enough to keep the true story secret.”

“So what story are we going by?” John asked.

“Sherlock was his target because someone was displeased he had faked his death. Molly was brought into it because she had helped him do so. He kidnapped them and was set to kill them when he was tracked due to diligent forethought from Lestrade and were rescued before they were seriously harmed.”

“So the truth, but not really the truth,” Lestrade said as he ate more of his food.

“It's easier than coming up with an entirely new fiction,” he said. Then he turned to Molly. “I do have bad news for you. Because you have not been at your post for some time St. Bart's has decided it was in their best interest for you to be made redundant. As this is an issue that the government was involved in and we insisted you take the leave of absence your stipend will continue until you find another means of supporting yourself to the level you were at before.”

“Well, that makes my decision much easier,” she said. Mycroft frowned at her slightly. “I thought I would try my hand at being a crime novelist.”

“I suppose that could be an interesting career choice,” Mycroft said thoughtfully. “Provided you are a talented author, of course.”

“She is,” Sherlock said without looking up from his food. “She's also agreed to continue as my assistant, which I'm sure will please you greatly.”

“It does,” Mycroft replied with a slight inclination of his head. “I'm assuming the two of you will continue to live with each other as well?”

Molly nodded. “And John is staying too.”

Mycroft's eyes widened slightly. “That is a surprise.”

“This is my home as much as it's Sherlock's,” John said with a slight shrug. “And besides, thanks to Molly he's not nearly as hard to live with as he used to be.”

“I'm glad to know that's how you really feel,” Sherlock said sourly.

“Well, _I've_ noticed a difference since you and Molly started living together,” Lestrade said. “You are definitely easier to get along with.”

Sherlock glared slightly and was about to say something but Molly put a hand on his arm and shook her head. He closed his mouth and then went back to his food as Molly let go. Both John and Lestrade wore amused smiles at that. Molly then turned to Mycroft. “So there isn't anything else we need to worry about? No one else is going to come after us?”

“There may be new enemies, but at the moment there is no immediate threat,” Mycroft said.

“Good,” Molly said with a nod. Then she looked at Lestrade. “When will you be going back to work?”

“Not for another two weeks, at least,” he said. “Possibly longer. There's a bit of a taint because of what Jarr--” He stopped. “I mean, because of what Moran did. I have to wait and see what Scotland Yard decides to do about the cases we worked on together. There may be some backlash and legal issues because of his secret life.”

“I will ensure your job is not put in jeopardy because of his deception,” Mycroft assured him.

“Thanks,” Lestrade said with a nod before he had more of his food.

“I believe that is everything we need to discuss at the moment,” Mycroft said, standing up. “Which bedroom will you and Molly be sharing, Sherlock?”

“The one she's in, I suppose,” he said, looking over at her.

“It's the biggest one, so that would be best,” she said with a nod.

“Then I will continue to keep minimal surveillance in that room. There are some things I never wish to see.” Molly began to blush and Mycroft frowned. “My apologies, Molly. I didn't mean to embarrass you.”

“It's all right,” she said quietly.

“I'll take my leave now before I say anything else someone might regret,” he said, moving towards the sitting room. “Good day.”

Once Mycroft left Sherlock spoke. “Well, that went remarkably well, other than the very end.”

“Yes, it did,” John said. “I honestly thought there might be more bad news on the horizon. Good to know there isn't.”

“I agree,” Molly said. “It might take a while, but I think we might all be able to move past this and go back to having normal, boring lives.”

“No life with Sherlock being involved is ever boring, dear,” Mrs. Hudson said. “Most of the time it can be a good thing, though.”

“Well, we'll just have to wait and see,” Molly replied, giving Sherlock a smile. He grinned back before going back to his food, and as she went back to her own meal she realized that finally, everything was good. She could start to pick up her life again and maybe this time it could be better than before.


	19. Chapter 19

**One Year Later**

Molly woke up and there were butterflies in her stomach. She had felt the onset of anxiety the night before but it was nothing like this morning. And she honestly thought she should be an old hat at this by now. After all, today was the date that the reviews of her third book were going to be published. The fact she'd had two books released that did well enough to warrant a third should have made her feel less nervous but no, she felt just the same as she had after the first book had come out, and just the same way when the second had come out. She realized that no matter how often she did this she was _always_ going to be a bundle of nerves, and that thought was not a particularly welcome one.

It took her a moment to realize she was in bed alone. She sat up and stretched for a moment before pulling off her covers and putting her feet on the ground. She had to get out of bed and face the reviews eventually so she might as well do it now. There was no way to put it off. With a sigh she got out of bed and went to the back of the door for her dressing gown. Once she had it on and knotted she made her way to the kitchen to get coffee. She had walked right by the table without noticing the stack of newspapers and Sherlock's open laptop on top, and after a moment she went back and looked at the laptop. In the open browser there were fifteen different open tabs, and she realized each one was a review of her newest book. She hesitated a moment, then sat down and began reading the first one, relaxing the more she read. It was favorable. In fact, this particular reviewer called it the best of the series, and he hoped to see more from her long into the future.

She went through each review, finding them on the whole to be positive. There was one that pointed out a flaw in the story but said it was a minor issue and since it was most likely based on the real life exploits of Sherlock Holmes it didn't come off as _too_ unbelievable. Once she was done with the reviews on the laptop she moved it and picked up the first newspaper. It was only the arts section, and once again she found the reviews to be on the positive side. By the time she got to the last review she felt that the launch party tonight was going to be a smashing success.

When she had finished she set the papers back in a stack and went into the kitchen to make some coffee. The pot was almost done brewing when she heard the front door open. “Sherlock?” she called out.

“No, just me,” John answered, coming up into the sitting room. “Sherlock's out at a crime scene.” He grinned when he saw the laptop next to the newspapers. “I see you found his gift.”

“How early did he get up to set this all up?” she asked. “I mean, it's only nine thirty.”

“I think sometime around six?” John said. “He had just finished pulling out all the reviews when Greg called him. Something about someone leaving a cryptic note at a crime scene promising more murders.”

“Lovely,” she said with a sigh. “I do hope he's going to be able to come to the party tonight. Even with the positive reviews I'm going to be nervous if I'm there all by myself.”

“I specifically heard him tell Greg if they didn't make any headway by four he was going to work more on it tomorrow, so don't worry. He'll be there.”

“Good,” she said. Then she paused. “What are you doing back so early? I thought you were going to be at the clinic doing paperwork all morning.”

“Well, I attempted to, but I felt it best if there was someone here for you when you went through the reviews. Sherlock told me they were good but I know you still get nervous until all of this is over.”

“I know I need to promote the books in order to get them to sell but I still find the launch parties and the face to face interviews to be the hardest aspect,” she said as the coffee finished. She pulled down a mug and poured herself a cup. “Critics reading my books and writing reviews are one thing. Actually talking to people who have read them in person is quite another. I always get so worried I'll make an absolute fool of myself.”

“But you're always kind and gracious about it,” John said reassuringly about it. “And it's obvious you love the stories you tell. That comes out when you talk about your books.”

“I suppose.” She went to the refrigerator for her creamer and brought it back to her coffee. “You're going to be there tonight as well, right?”

“Dateless, but yeah,” he said.

“Georgina didn't work out?” she asked.

“She decided she wanted someone a bit flashier,” he said with a shrug. “I'm taking it as her loss. But it did make me think about something. At some point I'm going to need a place of my own again, I think. A nicer place this time, but I think it's time.”

“Sherlock is going to be disappointed,” she said with a frown.

“Actually, he approves,” he said. He chuckled at what must have been the surprised look on her face. “We had a talk about it last night after you went to sleep. I told him about Georgina and his response was that it probably had to do with the fact I rented a flat as opposed to having my own home. I don't think that's the entire reason, but I'll admit it certainly didn't help matters.”

“Well, if you think it's best then I'll be sad to see you go but I'll be happy for you as well,” she said with a smile as she finished preparing her coffee. She put the creamer back where it belonged and then took the coffee to the table and sat back down. “Do you want help picking a place out?”

He nodded as he came over to the table and picked up one of the reviews. “I trust your opinions, so that would be a great help. But it can wait until after you do your book tour.”

“I'm not relishing spending two weeks traveling the UK and another week in the States,” she said with a sigh. “If Sherlock has a case he can't join me like he did the last time.”

“Well, you have three days before you have to leave. For all you know he could solve the case in two and then refuse to answer any calls from Greg until you two get back,” he said with a grin. He read some of the review. “Best book of the series, huh? That's high praise.”

“Well, that just means the expectations for the fourth book are going to be much higher,” she said. “But I'll manage.” She had some of her coffee as the front door opened again. Both she and John turned to look at the sitting room door and a moment later Sherlock came bounding up the stairs. She gave him a wide smile. “Thank you.”

“You're welcome,” he said with a nod. He came over to the table and sat down. “This was probably one of the easiest cases I've ever had.”

John looked at his watch. “It's only been two and a half hours,” he said.

“When the killer attempts to kill someone else two blocks away there isn't really all that much I need to do,” he said with a shrug. “He had the bloody knife and another note on him. He had to be one of the most idiotic killers I've ever seen in my entire life.”

“Then that leaves your day free,” John said. “And provided there's no other cases, the rest of the month as well.”

“So you'll still come with me?” Molly asked hopefully.

Sherlock nodded. “Yes, I will still be accompanying you on your book tour.”

She got up and moved behind him, putting her arms around his neck and kissing his cheek. “That will make the experience infinitely better.”

“I knew you would be pleased,” he said. She let go of him after a moment and straightened up, and then he turned to look at her. “Molly, could I speak to you in private for a moment?”

“Of course,” she said with a nod.

“And I'll take this as a cue to leave the room,” John said with a chuckle. “Let me know when it's all right to come back downstairs.”

“We will,” Molly said as he got up. She waited until John left the sitting room before sitting down at the table again. “What do you want to talk to me about?”

He was quiet for a moment. “This morning has not gone according to plan,” he said. “I had hoped to be here when you had read the reviews of your newest book because I had wanted to do something. I can do it now, of course, but I had wanted it to be done differently.”

“What is it you wanted to do this morning, Sherlock?” she asked.

“We've been in a relationship for well over a year now,” he said. “It didn't start out during the best of situations, but we weathered through that and we've weathered through other things as well. I think after this long it is fairly obvious we can get through most anything that is thrown at us. And I want to think you're happy with how things are. But I've been thinking about it and I'm sure you could be happier.”

She frowned. “Sherlock, I really am quite happy with how things are. I don't know how you think they could improve.”

“But they could,” he said. “I know they could and it's taken me time to get to the point where I actually feel comfortable with making the situation better.”

“Now I'm very confused,” she said.

He hung his head. “I am making an utter hash of this.” He looked down and reached into his coat pocket and then pulled out a small box and set it on the table. She looked at it in surprise and then he pushed it across the table towards her. “I wanted to give you this this morning. I had actually planned for it to be the first thing you saw when you realized my computer was open. But then I got the call and I had no clue when you would be awake and I wanted to actually be here when you opened it.”

She reached over for the box and opened it. Inside was a ring that looked exactly like the ring her grandmother and mother had worn when they had been proposed to, a large square cut ruby flanked by smaller square cut diamonds. She looked back up at him with wide eyes. “Is this my grandmother's ring?” she asked.

He shook his head. “No. I know that ring is too big for you and as you didn't want to risk it getting damaged while being resized I decided it was best to just have it recreated. This one should fit you perfectly.” He got up after a moment and moved over towards her, picking the ring up out of the box. “I am not someone who is prone to flowery speech. That's something you've known for far longer than we've been in a relationship. I apologize if this isn't the best proposal, but I do love you and I want to spend the rest of my life as your husband, and I hope you will accept me as such.”

“Of course I will,” she said with a wide smile, looking up at him.

“I was supposed to get down on one knee when I actually proposed, wasn't I?” he said with a slight frown.

“That part doesn't matter,” she said. “But I do think you're supposed to put the ring on my finger now that I've said yes.” He nodded, then lifted up her hand and slipped the ring onto her ring finger. It really was a perfect fit, she decided. She stood up and framed his face with her hands before leaning in and kissing him. When she pulled away she still had a wide smile on her face. “I think, for you, that was a very good proposal.”

“But it didn't go according to how I'd planned it,” he said, reaching over for her.

“It's all right,” she said. “The point is you asked and I said yes. And besides, if we ever have children I think it will still be a very heartwarming story to tell them.”

“I'm glad you said yes,” he said quietly.

“Did you honestly think I would have said no?” she asked.

“Well, I was fairly sure you wouldn't, but considering it wasn't the most elegant of proposals there was always the chance you would.”

“Considering everything we've been through you should have realized I wouldn't throw it all away over a less than perfect proposal,” she said. “I'd lose so much if I did that, more than I care to lose.”

He nodded, sliding his hands around to the small of her back. “You know what this means, right?”

“I get to plan a wedding and write another book at the same time?” she said with a smile.

“Well, yes, but that wasn't what I meant. What I meant was Mycroft is getting exactly what he wants.”

She frowned as she thought about what he said, and then her eyes widened and her mouth formed a small O for a moment. “He did say this was what he wanted, that day we came back from the safe house.”

“If I didn't actually think it was the best thing I could do for myself I'd be quite cross that I was actually doing something he wanted without argument,” he said. “Unless waiting a year counts.”

“I like to think it does,” she said with a chuckle. “And we probably don't even need to tell him. I'm sure he saw it all for himself. I like to imagine he's staring at a computer screen right now, looking on approvingly.”

“I wouldn't be surprised if he knew the moment I placed the order for the ring,” he said. “But I suppose it doesn't matter. I think marrying you is the smartest thing I could ever do.”

“I think it is too,” she said with a smile before kissing him again. He pulled her as close as he could as he kissed her back and she realized that right now, in this moment, her life was absolutely perfect, and she wouldn't have it any other way.


End file.
